In the Moon's Image
by EstelRaca
Summary: As if everything else that happened during the courtroom bombing wasn't enough, Apollo was also bitten by a werewolf. In her defense, Juniper didn't remember biting Apollo. And because being an unwitting werewolf isn't bad enough, things get even more complicated when Apollo accidentally bites someone else-a crime punishable by death in werewolf society.
1. Prologue: Accidental Induction

**Author's Note:** This is a fifteen-chapter, incredibly self-indulgent little story wherein some of the Ace Attorney characters become werewolves. I'll be updating the story weekly until it's done. There are spoilers through Dual Destinies. On an unrelated note, I'm helping to run an Ace Attorney mini fic and art exchange! Look it up on AO3 or on Tumblr (aceattorneyexchange) and come join us, please!

 _Prologue: An Accidental Induction_

Juniper doesn't mean to bite him.

There are very strict rules, after all. No changing in public places. No telling anyone about the gift without clearing it with the packs in the area. No Changing anyone who hasn't asked for the gift. No Changing anyone without a pack handy to help with the initial transformation and the adjustment period.

It's not something she would even have considered doing, were she thinking rationally. She was born to the gift; it comes to her as naturally as breathing. She has seen those who aren't, though—those who have had to find a balance between who they were and who they have become, and it is not always a pretty sight. She may have _dreamt_ , sometimes, about telling Apollo what she is. About him reacting with joy and enthusiasm rather than terror and disbelief. About him _smiling_ for her, that big, glorious, gorgeous grin of his, and telling her that he _wants_ it.

About running with him, under a full bountiful moon, the calls of the pack around them and the _scent_ of him filling her nostrils and he would be _gorgeous_ as a wolf, sleek and small, his fur dark until the moon catches it just right and shows that there are more colors than just shadow in it.

She has dreamt of him bowing down, inviting her to play, and she could wag her tail before dancing away and—

And she wishes, sometimes, that she _hadn't_ met him in the fall, so shortly after the October full moon. Wishes she hadn't gotten his scent and his kindness all mixed up in the mating season, because it doesn't seem to want to _stop_ being mixed up in it.

Though mating is really the last thing on her mind as the courtroom erupts into panic. She heard the proclamation that the bomb was about to explode, but everything after was lost in a sudden influx of far too much information. Sometimes her sensitive ears and nose are a blessing; sometimes they are a curse, and now is one of those times. She cannot seem to find her balance, her body wanting to shift as the scents of panic and fear and urine permeate the air. She _cannot_ shift, though. She has been taught far too well what the consequences of Changing in public would be, and so she holds on to her human form by sheer stubborn determination and tries to figure out what she is supposed to _do_.

Eventually the press of bodies fades, and a single voice manages to pierce through the cacophony.

 _His_ voice.

He fought through the crowd to her side, and there is nothing of her wolf in the tears that rise to her eyes, the joy that rolls as a mewling keen from her mouth. He _does_ care about her, as more than just a client, as more than just Athena's friend. Even if he isn't currently enamored with her as she is with him, he _must_ care, to have bothered to—

The explosion catches her completely unprepared, a wall of heat and dust and ash, a pelting of small stones and a grumbling of the whole building that shakes her twitching bones and pushes the Change ever closer to the surface.

He protects her.

She doesn't realize that until blood is already flooding her mouth, iron dripping from where her too-long, barely-human-still teeth have sunk into the flesh around his collarbone.

"It's fine!" His voice is barely loud enough to be heard through the ringing in her ears, and she can feel his heart beating too hard where his body is pressed against her. "We're fine! Everything's—"

Another piece of the ceiling caves in then, and Apollo yowls, a primal sound of pain, but he doesn't move from his spot defending and protecting her.

Juniper presses her face to his body, inhaling his scent in deep droughts, drawing her humanity back around her until it is tears that run down her face rather than whimpers that slide from her throat.

She forgets, by the time the paramedics find them, that she bit him, and since Athena doesn't know about what she is, it is not one of the things her friend helps her remember.


	2. Chapter One: First Times

**Author's Note:** Just wanted to remind everyone that I'm helping run an Ace Attorney exchange for fic and art in honor of the anime coming out, so if you're interested at all, look up the Ace Attorney Mini-Exchange on AO3 or the aceattorneyexchange tumblr! The more the merrier for everyone.

 _Chapter One: First Times_

Apollo spends January 10th feeling like he got run over by a truck.

To be fair it's something that's been building for the last week, aches and pains springing up deep in his joints and bones with alarming frequency. Getting out of bed has been surprisingly difficult most days; getting to sleep has been equally difficult, his thoughts jumbled but _racing_ , and he has spent far too much time on the roof and pacing the alleys around his apartment building.

(He thinks the trouble sleeping and the trouble waking are likely normal, has fumbled out oblique questions to Athena about what grief can cause, and her answers were equally indirect but generally reassuring.)

Everything really comes to a head on the 10th, though. Which is annoying, because he and Athena are investigating a case. They have a client depending on them—a young musician who insists she didn't kill the other half of Thunder&Lightning, and Apollo knows that she is telling the truth about that, at least.

The two areas they have to investigate—the recording studio where the murder occurred, and the small apartment that the rising stars shared—are both small, which Apollo views as a blessing. It means that even though every movement feels like ground glass shards are grinding against each other in his hips and knees and elbows, he can still help with the investigation. All he has to do is stay still and move just his head.

"'Pollo?" Athena's hand lands gently on his shoulder. "You look a little pale. You all right?"

"I'm..." Apollo hesitates, glancing at Athena and regretting the move as pain causes his stomach to do a little flip. "I actually... feel pretty terrible. Do you think you and Trucy could maybe handle the investigation part?"

Athena stares at him as though he's suddenly grown a second head.

"I mean, I can stay and help if you need me." Apollo squints, and his head is starting to pound, a funny haze appearing around everything, which usually indicates agonizing pain in his near future. "But I—"

Athena's right hand is suddenly against his forehead, her other hand typing in a number on her cell phone. "I don't think you're feverish. Did you eat anything questionable over the last few days? Been around anyone else who's sick? Yeah, boss, it's Athena. Apollo's really sick. No, we're not in an ambulance, but he _told_ me he doesn't feel good and—"

" _Athena_." Apollo snatches the phone from Athena's hand. "I'm fine, Mr. Wright. Just some aching joints and a headache."

"Really?" Suspicion drips from Mr. Wright's voice. "If you're feeling really under the weather, you can always stay at the office or at our place. Trucy would love to take care of you, I'm sure."

"I just want to go home and _sleep_." The words come out too much like a plea, but the light is starting to _hurt_ , and he wants it to be night. He wants it to be dark, to pace through shadows that are just slightly blacker than his fur while the _moon_ beats down on him and—

"Apollo?" Athena has a hand on each of his shoulders, is staring at him with wide eyes.

"Sorry." Apollo isn't sure if he's apologizing to the woman in front of him or the man saying his name with increasing levels of concern on the other end of the phone. "Migraine. I don't get them often, but they... they're not good."

The admission earns audible sighs of relief from both people, and Apollo is grateful that they've stopped yelling his name.

"Silly." Athena takes the phone gently from Apollo's aching fingers. "You should _tell_ us about things like this."

"I've never had one at work that the painkillers didn't help with before." Apollo knows he sounds sullen, but he doesn't like being the center of attention, not like this. Not when he's the center of attention because they don't think he can take care of himself—because he's letting them down and not doing what he needs to do. "But if you want me to be functional tomorrow, I think... I think I should go home."

Athena talks into her phone for a few seconds, then listens and nods.

Apollo finds that he can't even follow the conversation, his attention too easily distracted by anything moving in his peripheral vision. Forensics is still working on the apartment, just like they were at the studio. He's not surprised, given who's in charge of the investigation. Which is why it's _stupid_ that his body is betraying him like this, because he and Athena will need every edge they can get if they want to—

Athena grabs his wrist, tugs him toward the door, and Apollo's train of thought shatters into a hundred glistening stars that he can't quite seem to hold on to.

"Detective Skye!" Athena maneuvers Apollo to a stop in front of the woman who is currently in charge of the crime scene. "I need a favor."

"A favor?" Ema frowns, and Apollo finds his eyes tracking the movement of her lips. Only Athena's hands gripping his shoulder and arm firmly keep him upright as his sense of balance up-ends. "I'm not telling you anything more about what we've—oh, hell, is he all right?"

"I'm fine." Apollo mumbles out the words, shaking his head to try to clear it. That is a terrible mistake, and nausea joins the list of problems that he is currently combating as he squints to keep everyone's faces in focus. "Just... migraine."

He's actually fairly certain it isn't _just_ a migraine, though there definitely is a migraine component to the pain in his head and the fizzling auras around everyone. The handful of times he's had migraines before, though, he hasn't _ached_ like he does right now, a body-wide throbbing centered on his joints. And the handful of times he's gotten migraines in the past they struck quickly, not sneaking up on him for a week. But saying he has a migraine will explain his problems without causing everyone to freak out, and hopefully get him _home_ , which is really all he wants. His own apartment, his own territory, full of his own scent—

"Gavin!" Ema's shout is a cymbal crash, bringing a brief pause to the movements of all the workers in the room.

It also causes Klavier Gavin to materialize at her side, one hand rubbing at his ear, a wounded look on his face. "Detective Skye, I—"

"Justice is sick, has a nasty migraine, and he and Cykes biked here. He's clearly not up to biking home. _I_ am in charge of the crime scene and all the evidence gathered here, so I shouldn't be leaving. _You_ are going to be getting a synopsis of everything, anyway. Plus it should only take you, what, a half hour round trip with the way you drive?" Ema nods towards Apollo. "Want to play knight in shining armor for the opposition?"

"Despite my general belief in not providing succor to the enemy, I think, in this case, that I would very much like to." Klavier leans forward, frowning in obvious concern. "Assuming you can hold on to me and stay seated on the hog? And that you do not want me to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm not that sick. I just want to go _home_." Apollo forces his aching body to straighten, his misbehaving eyes to focus on each of the people in their group in turn. "If you could give me a ride, Prosecutor Gavin, I'd... really appreciate it."

"Done." Klavier grabs Apollo's hand, hauling him toward the door. "I'll be back as quickly as I can be, Detective Skye. Call me if you need me before then."

"Thanks." Apollo can feel his face heating as he follows Klavier into the elevator. He feels too sore and tired to really even be properly embarrassed at needing the assistance, though. He just wants to be home, where he can draw the curtains and sink down on the couch or his bed and pretend someone _isn't_ lacing red-hot strings through his bones.

"Not a problem, Herr Justice." Klavier hasn't released Apollo's hand. "I am happy to assist if you are in need."

 _And since you_ look _like you're in need right now, that means you're_ really _in need._

Apollo blinks, looking around the elevator for whoever spoke the barely-audible words. There is no one present, though—and even if there was, it wouldn't be who he _thought_ he just heard, because he attended that man's funeral three weeks ago.

"Herr Forehead?" Klavier's voice is gently teasing, but it's clear from the way he's watching Apollo that he's still concerned.

"Sorry." Apollo rubs a hand over his forehead. "Just... need to get home."

"All right." The elevator stops, and Klavier leads him carefully forward, out into sunlight that seems to stab right through Apollo's eye sockets and out the back of his skull.

Klavier arranges his spare helmet on Apollo's head, fitting the chin strap snugly. After Apollo has reassured him another three or four time that it's just a migraine, and Apollo just desperately wants to go _home_ , not to the hospital, Klavier starts up his motorcycle and they're off.

Apollo holds on without difficulty. He feels slightly _better_ once they're moving, actually, the cold wind against his face feeling nice, the rumble of the ground passing beneath the motorcycle giving him a vaguely reminiscent feeling that doesn't make _sense_ , since this is the first time he's been a motorcycle.

It doesn't have to make sense, though. Apollo is just glad to be feeling better, even if only marginally, and he presses closer to Klavier's back, draws in deep lungfuls of air now that it seems the likelihood of him throwing up if he moves too quickly has faded.

The wind smells _amazing_.

Well, not all of it. Actually, not most of it. Car exhaust smells like car exhaust, but there seem to be _layers_ to the smell now that he hadn't noticed before, and that is only the background scent against which other smells are stacked. Baking bread, there and then gone; meat and spice, and Apollo finds himself having to swallow an alarming amount of saliva as they breeze past an Italian restaurant; flowers, a dozen scents all tangled together, and he sneezes, his head falling down to Klavier's shoulder.

 _Klavier_ smells wonderful, a heady mix of faintly floral shampoo and a much stronger cologne than he usually uses and just a _hint_ of something that may be oil from guitar strings and something else that is very, very distinctly just Klavier and—

The motorcycle swerves, not quite out of their lane, and Klavier's body twists in Apollo's grip.

Only then does Apollo realize that he has buried his face as best he can in the crook of Klavier's neck, only the helmets that they are both wearing keeping him from practically _nuzzling_ the man he is supposed to be facing off with tomorrow in court.

Apollo holds himself rigidly still for the remainder of the drive, leaving as much room as possible between Klavier and himself without falling off the motorcycle. When Klavier pulls up in front of Apollo's building, Apollo rips his helmet off, mumbles out an apology, and sprints as fast as his aching body will allow for the safety and security of his own rooms.

Hopefully Klavier will be content to pretend the little scene on the motorcycle never happened.

That's certainly what Apollo's going to do, and he tells himself over and over again that it was simply a little slip of his body because he's sick and his equilibrium is off. He was not _sniffing_ Klavier Gavin.

He nods in agreement with himself as he closes all of the curtains, blocking out the painful sunlight, and doesn't notice that he is breathing in slowly and deeply through his nose, the scents of his apartment—of _his_ place _—_ helping to comfort him after the confusion of the last hour.

XXX

Apollo sits shivering under a pelt of cold rain.

Except it isn't rain, it's his shower, and he doesn't remember when it turned cold. Unless he set it to be cold? But he doesn't think he would. He doesn't really _like_ cold, and cold seems to have seeped deep into his bones, ice replacing the burning agony that had been there before.

He should call someone.

He feels awful, and he should really call someone, because he's a little bit concerned that maybe they were right and he really _is_ dying.

He tries to stand, but he can't quite seem to figure out how his legs are supposed to work, so instead he crawls away from the spray of cold water, leaving a damp trail in his wake.

His phone.

He should find his phone.

He doesn't remember where he put it, though. After the six thousandth time he was woken from a restless doze by his phone chirping at him that someone wanted Justice, he sent a mass text to everyone in his contacts saying that he was _fine_ and he was _sleeping_ and he wasn't going to respond to anyone for the next six hours, at least.

It had been light, then. He had been able to see the sun shining around his curtains, and he had wandered room to room, restless and exhausted in equal measure.

It is dark, now. The light that gilds the edges of his windows is the orange-shimmer of artificial attempts to drive away the frightening blackness of the night. But if he pulls back the curtains, if he twists his head so that he can gaze up through the maze of buildings and fire escapes, he will see something else. He will see something _beautiful_ , hanging round and full in the sky, and—

It _hurts_.

He doesn't think he has ever hurt so badly.

Perhaps he has, though, because he thought the same thing after the courtroom explosion, and then again when he was bludgeoned by Tonate. Perhaps every time one is grievously injured the body maxes out the pain sensation, but it is so overwhelming that it feels new each time.

Or perhaps his whole body really _is_ trying to twist in on itself, to turn him into some kind of horrible statue. Perhaps his brain really _is_ burning and freezing at the same time.

His phone. He needs to find his phone.

Did he leave it in his bedroom? Under a pillow? In the sock drawer? Or somewhere in the living room? Between couch cushions?

The carpet smells of too many things—of pizza and Chinese food and spilled sports drinks and him and of _Clay_ , he _knows_ that the scent is Clay's though it is faint and he has never smelled it so clearly—

"Oh, man, you look _awful_." The voice is half-panicked but all familiar, though the panic is shoved away for the next sentence. "It's okay, Apollo. You're fine. I'm right here and you're going to be just fine. Damn, why can't I ever _touch_ things? It's not _fair_!"

"Clay." Apollo whispers the name, gazing with blurry eyes around the darkened room. His throat feels _raw_ , stretched and torn, the name too much a growl. "M'phone..."

"Phone! Right, that makes sense. You need to call someone who can actually _help_ you." The voice rises and falls in volume, as though the owner were pacing around the apartment. "Ah hah, victory! _Kitchen_ , Apollo! You need to go to the kitchen!"

The words are shouted, each one enunciated with precision and care. They also seem to originate right by his ear, and Apollo pulls back, shaking his head and snarling as he swipes at a suddenly-icy area on his face.

"Come on, Apollo. Go to the kitchen. Look between the Astr-Os and the Ninja Nutties. Come on, buddy. You aren't allowed to die like this. Not so soon. Not alone." Clay's voice is pleading, almost on the verge of tears.

Apollo tries to force his arms and legs to move again, to pull his shivering, half-convulsing form closer to the kitchen.

"That's it. Come on, just keep doing that." Clay's cajoling sounds just like it used to, and Apollo raises his head, squinting towards where the voice is coming from.

He can _see_ someone just in front of him, off and on, like a hologram that is having power problems. Someone who _looks_ like Clay, but it _can't_ be Clay, and it doesn't _smell_ like Clay, and—

And he can't move anymore.

Can't _breathe_ anymore, every muscle in his body clenching tight at the same time, and _why_ did he tell everyone that he wanted to come home? Why did he tell them to stop bothering him? He doesn't want to die like this. He doesn't want to _die_ , period. There's too much he has to do, two lives that he has to live, and he _isn't_ going to die here.

He is going to survive.

No matter what it takes.

The first breath is agony, stretching his ribs in directions that they don't want to move in, but he manages.

The second is easier, though the agony has spread out, seems to be flowing like water down all his limbs. He takes the easier breathing as a good sign, though, and focuses just on that, air in, air out.

Air in, pain out.

Up on his back legs, up on his arms—

"Oh man." Clay stares down at him, disbelief and relief vying for control of his expression. "Apollo, you are not going to believe what just happened to you."

 _Clay_ stares down at him, a man who is most decidedly dead, and Apollo tries once more to scramble to his feet.

Except he seems to have too many _feet_ and not enough _hands_.

And there is something very _wrong_ with his eyes, even aside from the fact that he is seeing dead people. The world is far brighter than it should be—far brighter than it was two minutes ago—but nothing seems to want to _focus_.

He had collapsed in front of one of the closed windows, skewered by a beam of orange light, but now the light appears... different. _Sparkling_ , sparking, filled with tiny bits of lightning that probably aren't really there, and Apollo finds himself snapping at them.

Snapping at them with teeth and a muzzle that are decidedly inhuman.

As he scrambles with four feet at the carpet, which is getting snagged in his claws.

He's hallucinating.

That's the only explanation that makes sense. He's still deathly ill, and he's hallucinating, and for some reason he's hallucinating that he's a _dog_.

"You're a werewolf." Clay has come closer, is bending down so that his face is mere inches from Apollo's. "You're a damn _werewolf_! Why didn't you _tell_ me you're a werewolf?"

"Because I'm not!" That's what Apollo attempts to say, at least. What he actually _hears_ is a series of whimpering keens, and that pretty much drives away the last vestiges of rational thought.

He is trapped.

He's scared and he's trapped and he needs to get _out_.

He isn't used to how these legs work, but he figures it out after five or six scrambling lunges. The last one snags his front paws in the curtain, and he pulls it down, bathing the room in moonlight.

For a moment he relaxes, a sigh heaving his ribs in silent evidence of relief as the dull, diluted light sinks into his body, soothing away the aches of transformation.

Then he forces his way unsteadily onto all four feet.

He is trapped, and he wants to get free. All that separates him from freedom is a pane of glass, and—

"No!" Arms wrap around his neck, cold fingers sinking into his fur and holding on tight. "You will be a _flat_ and _dead_ werewolf if... you... do... that."

Clay's voice falters at the end of the sentence, sinking away to a whisper.

Apollo leans back against the cold body, even though it is restraining him. Even though it doesn't _smell_ like Clay—doesn't smell like anything, just a wisp of colder air swirling about him—it _sounds_ and _acts_ like Clay, and Clay is his.

"I'm touching you." A hand runs through Apollo's fur, tentative, probing. "You're a _werewolf_ and I'm _touching_ you."

Apollo twists, squinting up at Clay's form. It looks _very_ solid now, though there is still something wrong with Apollo's eyes, colors looking muted and diluted even given the moonlight.

"Hey." Clay smiles tentatively down at him. "You... you can see me?"

Apollo tries to say _yes_ , but in this strange hallucination he can only bark out a grunted affirmation. His tongue laps out, trails over Clay's ice-cold hand—finding no difference in the feel between Clay's skin and the edges of his GYAXA uniform, both tasting like ice and snow.

"You're okay." A hand flattens his ears, ruffling his fur as though he were a dog. "You're a werewolf and you just tried to jump out of a seven-story window, but I think that you're just fine."

Clay is here.

Clay is holding him.

 _Here_ is his home, his den, his lair, smells only of him and of those he has invited in—Clay, Trucy, Athena, Klavier, Ema, Phoenix.

The moonlight continues to caress his fur as Clay caresses his head, and Apollo finds his eyes closing, his legs settling him slowly to the ground.

He is not trapped.

He is _home_ , and he is not alone, and that means that it is safe for him to sleep.


	3. Chapter Two: Blood and Buzz

**Author's Note:** Just another reminder that I'm helping to run an Ace Attorney exchange on AO3, and there's still time to sign up! Fics only have to be 500 words; artwork has to be a finished sketch. Come play with us!

 _Chapter Two: Blood and Buzz_

Apollo wakes up naked in the middle of his living room floor just after dawn.

His shower is running, an icy-cold stream that has dampened pretty much everything in the bathroom but that thankfully hasn't flooded the rest of the apartment. Apollo's first order of business is turning the shower off, after which he stands taking stock of himself, trying to figure out what happened.

He feels _great_. He feels better than he has in weeks, honestly, no aches in his bones or his joints, no pain in his head even when he stares out at the clear blue morning sky. He feels _energized_ , as though he could take on the whole world—a welcome change, and he is grinning as he heads to the kitchen to find food to satiate his suddenly-growling stomach.

He hasn't been this hungry in a long time, either. Certainly not for the last month, and he finds his mouth watering even before he's opened the refrigerator. That's all right, though. One thing he's actually pretty good at it making sure that he has food stocked, and he devours the half a box of waffles left in his freezer before moving on to the cereal cupboard.

His phone tumbles out from between the Astr-Os and the Nuttie Ninjas, and he spend a moment just staring down at it in frowning concentration. He thinks he remembers someone telling him that's where his phone was, but in his memory it is _Clay_ telling him that his phone was there, and _that's_ simply not possible.

Strange dreams, he decides. He must have just been having very strange dreams from being sick. It would disturb him more if he didn't feel _fantastic_ now. As it is, he finds it very easy to brush off the awkward position he woke up in, the bizarre snatches of dream-memory he has of ghosts and transformations, and get back to business as usual.

He has something like a hundred messages on his phone, a combination of texts and voice mails from all the usual suspects. He sends another mass text to all his contacts, saying that he is feeling much better now; then he texts Athena, telling her that he will meet her at the courthouse to receive a synopsis of their position.

Apollo goes to shove his phone into his back pocket, and only then realizes that he hasn't gotten dressed yet.

Shaking his head, Apollo heads towards his bedroom, trying not to shiver as a cold breeze brushes against both his shoulders.

Yesterday was bad, and apparently last night was really weird, but _today_...

He grins again, breaking into a brief sprint for the last half of the trip to his bedroom, wishing that the path was longer, that he could _run_.

Today he feels _wonderful_ , and he's going to make up for walking out on Athena yesterday.

XXX

"Are you _sure_ that you're feeling all right?" Athena eyes him warily, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"I feel _fine_. I feel _better_ than fine!" Apollo forces his feet to stay still, to stop himself from pacing the confines of the defense's lobby as he's been doing while Athena explains their situation to him. "Listen to my voice. Any discord in it?"

"Well, no..." Athena just continues to frown at him.

"It was just a migraine. Unpleasant at the time, but not that big a deal. Now Justice is back and ready for action!" Apollo grins, trying to hide the fact that sitting still is almost physically painful. His blood is _buzzing_ , practically, a lightning dance of energy through his whole body, and it took him about half of his usual time to bike to the courthouse. "Thanks to whoever brought my bike to my apartment, by the way. That was awesome."

"Trucy's idea, Ema's assistance. I hope that the bike lock still works." Athena is still watching him dubiously, though her eyes are also flicking towards the entrance to the defendant lobby, clearly waiting for their client. "But really, Apollo, I've got the case if you need to take a bit of a break. And the boss is in the gallery, in case I run into any trouble."

"I know, but I _don't_ need to take a break. I'm _fine_."

"You certainly do look fine, Herr Forehead. Just as fine as usual."

Apollo spins at the unexpectedly voice behind him, a sound that is half-growl, half-yip sliding out of his throat. He slaps a hand over his mouth, but too late to stop the strange vocalization, and Athena and Klavier are both staring at him in bemused concern. Well, at least it's better than the _last_ weird thing he did around Klavier. Though that was _not_ his fault, it was all the migraine, and he's going to pretend neither incident actually occurred. "Prosecutor Gavin. What brings you down to the defense's slums?"

"Well, sometimes you meet some very interesting people there." Klavier flashes a smile at Athena, though he sobers immediately after. "Two orders of business. The first was informing you that there has been a delay in moving the defendant, so the trial will be postponed for approximately fifteen minutes while she is in transit."

"Got it. Fifteen extra minutes to figure out how we're going to beat you." Apollo finds that his feet have been moving without his permission, taking him in a slow circuit around Klavier. His lip is attempting to curl up into a challenging snarl, and he forces his expression back to neutral, his feet to still. Wasting energy attempting to intimidate Klavier, especially when Apollo doesn't really want to and Klavier is more likely to make an infuriating nickname out of said attempt rather than actually be intimidated, is silly. "What was your second order of business?"

"To ensure that the defense would not be passing out during the trial." Klavier leans towards Apollo. "Once I start jamming, I hate to be interrupted, so if you could be so kind as to ensure I will not be—"

"I'm not going to pass out!" Apollo steps forward, eliminating the small distance that Klavier had left between them, and it takes _way_ more self-control than it should to keep from biting at Klavier's nose. He will _not_ be talked down to, though. He is _not_ weak, is _not_ at the bottom of—

 _Stop stop stop!_ The words are a frantic whisper in his ear, one that he can only sort-of hear, and Apollo shivers again as a frigid draft passes over his whole upper body.

Shaking his head, Apollo takes a step back. "I'm fine, Prosecutor Gavin. Really."

Athena and Klavier merely stare at him.

"Really." Apollo rubs at the back of his neck, feeling sheepish and irritated at his own reactions. "But Athena's lead counsel, anyway. I'm just there to help out. If I start not feeling good again, I'll excuse myself. Promise."

"All right." Klavier inclines his head slightly, then flashes Athena another friendly smile. "I look forward to seeing what contradictions you can unearth, Fraulein Psychologist. Though I think you will find this a rather airtight case, I have been surprised in the past and will no doubt be surprised in the future. I will also be holding you to your word, Justice. Take care of yourself."

Klavier doesn't give Apollo a chance to respond further, turning on his heel and stalking from the lobby.

"Apollo, what is _wrong_ with you?" Athena plants herself in front of Apollo, who finds that he has started pacing again, a swift circuit of the lobby. "You're acting really weird."

"No, I'm not. Am I?" Apollo draws several long, deep breaths, trying to release some of the energy that seems to be building ceaselessly. "I _do_ feel fine, Athena. Really. I feel great."

"So you keep saying, and so you clearly believe." Athena's fingers rest on Widget, and she frowns at him. "You didn't... did you take anything? Or... a combination of things?"

" _Athena_." Apollo snarls at his colleague, his shoulders hunching as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I am _not_ taking drugs. Do you really think—"

"I don't think you're _intentionally_ taking anything, but sometimes perfectly normal and reasonable drugs can have weird interactions. Or someone might have a weird adverse reaction to a normal drug." Athena holds up her hands in a pleading gesture. "Just... tell me what you took yesterday, if you don't mind?"

"Nothing exciting. A ton of Motrin for my migraine. Some Coldkiller in case I was getting a sinus problem that had triggered the migraine." Apollo paces from one bench to the other, covering the distance in smooth, rapid strides. He actually finds it hard to remember what he did yesterday, though he's _certain_ he didn't do anything illegal. He doesn't even have _access_ to anything illegal.

"And you've taken both before?" Athena frowns, fiddling with her earring.

"Yeah." Apollo forces himself to come to a stop in front of Athena, grabbing her left hand and raising it to his forehead. "Look, I'm not sick—not running a fever, no problems. And I am _definitely_ not high. So if we could maybe focus on our defense, so that we don't look like idiots when our client gets here?"

"All right." Athena's shoulders finally relax, and a tentative smile twitches her mouth into a softer shape. "Though I _am_ lead counsel, and that means if I tell you to do something, you do it, right?"

"As long as it's not something absolutely stupid, you won't have to ask me twice." Apollo finds himself grinning, his feet itching to _move_ again, but he forces himself to stay still. Athena's right. It's time for him to look professional, even if his blood is singing in his veins, his pulse pounding in avid joy at the idea of meeting Klavier Gavin in battle.

It's going to be a battle of words, after all, and words are not a weapon that requires physical exertion.

XXX

Juniper frowns as she watches Apollo and Athena from her spot in the gallery.

She didn't arrive early enough to talk to them before they went back to the defendant lobby. Though she and her little pack have been awake since dawn, they spent the better portion of two hours wrestling with each other, trying to use up as much of their moon-granted energy as they could, and then another hour in meditation, making sure they would be able to hold to their human skins no matter what happens despite the day.

"Does something seem... odd about Justice today?" Hugh pushes his glasses up on his nose, narrowing his eyes as he stares down at the defense's bench.

"He's even louder than usual." Robin rubs at her ear as she, too, watches Apollo. "Which is impressive. Also kind of painful. And he keeps tripping over his words."

"If I didn't know better..." Hugh glances at Juniper. "I mean, given the day..."

"He's acting like he's moon-drunk." Juniper whispers the words, her own hands clenching in the sleeves of her shirt as she watches Apollo dig his fingers into the skin of his forearms, clearly trying to keep himself focused and still.

It's dangerous, saying the words out loud, here, amidst a sea of normal humans. But she needs to make sure that they're thinking the same thing she is—that they're _seeing_ the same thing she is. By speaking softly, so that only her pack's sensitive ears should be able to pick up the words, she will hopefully keep anyone from hearing more than they should.

"That can't be right, though." Robin turns to stare at Juniper, her eyes wide. She is wearing a floor-length skirt and her usual red shirt, with no make-up on—her usual ensemble around the full moon since everyone learned her true gender, her balancing act between the wolf's need to have no restrictions and the absolute disregard that the full moon usually brings so far as human gender rules are concerned. "I mean—we would have noticed if he was... yeah? Right?"

Hugh also looks to her, the two made-wolves trusting to her born-wolf knowledge and her longer acquaintance with Apollo and Athena to give her answers.

"He definitely wasn't, back in October." Juniper would have known if he or Athena were—would have smelled it on them, if they didn't come right out and tell her. "Or in December. I smelled his blood then—no way he could have..."

And then she remembers, with sudden sharp clarity. Memory can be a little bit strange, during the days of the full moon—the wolf doesn't remember in the same way as the human mind, and when the moon tugs the wolf towards ascendance it can blur everything.

Or it can give a strange intense _certainty_ to memory, the snapshot-moments that a wolf uses to remember _danger_ or _good place_ or _good person_ rising unexpectedly.

Like now, and Juniper can _taste_ the flood of Apollo-tinged iron in her mouth, feel the press of his body against hers, hear the explosion that happened almost a month ago as though it were happening again.

"Oh no." Juniper stares down at Apollo, finding that she has crouched down in her seat, her head held low. If she were in wolf form, her ears would be flat to her skull, her tail tucked as deeply as it could be.

What has she _done_?

What is she _going_ to do?

What is _Apollo_ going to do?

"Junie?" Robin is huddled against her left side, the other girl's arm draped across Juniper's shoulders. Comforting and protective both, and Juniper only has to glance to the side to see that Hugh is having to fight not to adopt a similar pose.

Right. She has to focus on her pack, on taking care of these people who have trusted her with their lives.

Straightening, Juniper licks her lips, a nervous gesture that both human and wolf share. It helps to settle her, and won't draw any undue attention from anyone else in the gallery. "We've got a problem. Because you're right, Hugh. That's _exactly_ what he's acting like because that's exactly what he _is_. Only he doesn't _know_ that. He probably has no idea what's happening to him. And it's my fault."

Robin curses, quietly, in something that is actually an approximation of an indoor voice as Prosecutor Gavin and Athena trade objections and the gallery erupts into shouts around them.

Hugh doesn't say anything, but his hand lands on Juniper's forearm, squeezes tightly, and his eyes are locked on Apollo.

They have to find some way to get Apollo off the floor.

She has to find some way to explain to Apollo what she's done, though the idea makes a piteous whimper rise in her throat.

And for all their sakes, she has to do it soon, before Apollo does something that no human present today will be able to ignore.

XXX

There's something wrong with him.

Athena was right, and there is something _very_ wrong with him.

Apollo realizes this an hour and half into the trial, when Athena grabs him by the arm for the twelfth time and hisses in his ear for him to please be _still_.

He _can't_ stay still. He is _trying_ , but the more his body stays still the harder it becomes for him to keep his _mind_ focused, and not being able to _think_ is far more disturbing than anything else that is happening.

The gallery is _loud_ today, explosive exclamations that have Apollo starting every few seconds, his eyes instinctively darting towards the unexpected noises. He seems to be having trouble actually picking out faces and individuals, though, his eyes not quite wanting to _focus_.

He should probably excuse himself from the trial. He should probably head back home, to his lair where he is safe, but they are in the middle of a _fight_ , and he can't abandon Athena in the midst of a fight.

Klavier has been ruthless since the start of the trial, presenting evidence with his usual confident flare at just the right second to push them into a corner time and again. Now they've ended up with their defendant on the stand, because the alternative had been letting the judge give a _guilty_ verdict.

"There were only two keys—yours, and the victims." Klavier's voice is low, calm and enticing, setting up his point with silken gloves. "Correct?"

"C-correct." Ella Tricity, the Lightning part of the band, watches Klavier warily, clearly recognizing the predator that is stalking her. "Those were the only keys made after we changed the locks."

"So in order to take the dagger that was used as the murder weapon from your room, someone would have had to be invited in by yourself or your partner, ja?" Klavier is _smiling_ , a display of teeth that is clearly all predatory threat, and Apollo finds himself growling low in his throat until Athena elbows him.

"N-not necessarily." Ella shakes her head. "We _do_ have friends who come over. It could have disappeared at any point in the last week, and I wouldn't have noticed."

"Could it have, now?" Klavier's smile grows, but his eyes are hard and flat, and Apollo can _smell_ his rival's combination of satisfaction and vicious rage. "Your Honor, if I could turn the court's attention to the photograph from earlier, the one from this morning of the duo—would you take a look at what's on the wall?"

"Objection!" Athena's hands slam down on the defense's bench before Apollo has even managed to get his eyes to focus on the picture. "There's no way to tell if that is _actually_ the dagger in question or a replacement object that looks similar from a photograph."

"Objection!" Klavier's fist connects with the back wall. "If no one could have entered their apartment from the time this photograph was taken until the time of the murder, which is what Ms. Tricity's testimony so far has indicated, it doesn't matter."

"I didn't do it!" Ella screams out the words, her hands clenched into fists and held in front of her chest. "I swear, I didn't do it!"

She isn't lying. Apollo is certain of that, at least, is able to get his eyes to focus on the young woman as her body shudders with fear.

"Ms. Tricity." There is a note of desperation to Athena's voice. "There's no one else you can think of who would have had access to your apartment? Nobody else who could have possibly had a key?"

"No one else had a key." Tears stand out in Ella's eyes. "I can't think of any way for someone to get into the house, or why anyone would want to."

Apollo's bracelet tightens around his arm, and he lunges forward, pressing up against the bench. " _Objection!_ "

"Mr. Justice." The judge stares at him as though he has suddenly turned blue. Actually, given the judge's usual powers of observation, probably with more interest than he would if Apollo had turned blue. "I'm not entirely certain what you just said, but given the context can I assume it was an objection?"

Klavier is watching him with narrowed eyes, and it takes Apollo far too long to rip his gaze away from Klavier and towards the person who is, in theory, actually in charge of the courtroom. "Yes. The wit... the witness is lying."

It's hard to form words. It's hard to remember what words he is _supposed_ to be forming, the tension in the courtroom thick and heavy. At least the difficulty with words means that the gallery has become more of a background noise than an active distraction. He mustn't be distracted from the fight.

"Apollo!" Athena's hand grabs his elbow, freezes him in place, and Apollo realizes that he has been pacing the short length of the defense's bench. He also suspects, from the fear in Athena's eyes, that this isn't the first time she's said his name. "What part is she lying about?"

"The..." Apollo blinks, trying to remember. It had been a very _small_ piece of testimony, really. Just two statements—or maybe three? He can't remember. But she was _lying_ , and that's _important_ , and Athena is _counting_ on him in this fight—

It _hurts_ , spasms of agony down his legs, down his arms, through his back, and Apollo whimpers out a breath as he doubles over on the defense's bench.

 _The key, anyone getting in, or why someone would want to!_ The words are a cold shout into his ear, but it snaps Apollo out of his spiral of anxiety and back into the moment.

"Apollo!" Athena's hand is against his forehead. "Apollo, what's—"

"Another way in. She knows... a way to get into the apartment... without the key." His tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth, and Apollo keeps himself from looking across the courtroom to where Klavier is standing. If he looks at Klavier, he won't be able to do what he needs to do—to surrender this fight into the hands of someone else. "Take over, 'Thena. I need... quick recess. E-excuse me, Your Honor."

Apollo doesn't know if the judge actually acknowledges his request or not, bolting towards the door into the defense's lobby and the bathrooms there on shaking legs, but it really doesn't matter.

If he stays in the courtroom, something bad is going to happen, so the best thing he can do is get away.


	4. Chapter Three: Rules and Regulations

**Author's Note:** Tomorrow's going to be super busy for me, so here's the next chapter early! I'm glad to hear that people are reading and enjoying.

 _Chapter Three: Rules and Regulations_

Apollo _hurts_ , but he feels _wonderful_.

It's a strange, heady combination, and he suspects it should worry him but he's too busy _experiencing_ it to leave room for fear. Besides, there is no _time_ for fear, because they are fighting in enemy territory, and he just abandoned one of his pack-mates—

Pain flares up and down his body in time to his heartbeat, and Apollo suspects he looks like he's drunk as he staggers towards the bathroom. A kind icy breeze at least keeps him from falling to the side, brushing against him and startling him upright so that he actually fits through the bathroom door. A glance around at a maddening array of reflections, a cacophony of smells that _burn_ against his nostrils, and Apollo tries to take a step closer to the sinks and instead collapses to the floor.

There is something very _wrong_ with his eyes again, something that is getting _worse_ by the minute, and Apollo finds that he can no longer read any of the signs posted about the bathroom, the letters smearing together into an unintelligible mush.

Clay flickers into view as colors wash out, though, a strobing, unreal effect. Clay looks very concerned as he kneels by Apollo's side, and Apollo reaches out a hand, poking a finger experimentally into Clay's arm.

His finger sinks in, but there is frigid, clammy resistance, and Clay jumps back with a squawk. "Okay, let's not do that, buddy. That felt really weird."

 _Apollo_ feels really weird, and he opens his mouth to try to say that, but he's pretty certain it isn't actually words that come out.

"It's all right. You're fine." Clay smiles encouragingly. "Well, you're a werewolf and I think you're currently thirty seconds or so from changing into said wolf form in the middle of the courtroom's men's bathroom, but _otherwise_ you're fine."

"'M not a werewolf." The words are slurred, but Apollo thinks they're at least recognizable as words. "'M a lawyer."

"A lawyer and a werewolf." Clay's form is absent more than it is present, now, and Apollo reaches out with a hand, tries to hold on to his friend.

His hand passes right through, sending a bolt of adrenaline coursing through his system. He _must_ hold on to Clay. Clay is _his_ , and if he doesn't keep Clay with him, Clay will be gone _forever._

The door to the bathroom swings open with sharp force, striking Apollo in the ankle.

"Justice, _schwachsinnige_ , I _told_ you—"

"Don't do that, I would _really_ not recommend doing that right now—"

The unseen person ignores Clay. Hands grab Apollo, haul him up against a warm body, and Apollo spends a moment frozen, torn by conflicting impulses as he attempts to blink his eyes into focus. Not that he needs to see to know who it is. The smell is beautifully familiar, and he draws a deep breath, huffs it out in slow puffs, savoring the delicate combination. Knowing who it is doesn't help him decide what to do, though. The one holding him is a friend, is pack, is someone to be nuzzled against and trusted; the one holding him is the enemy, the one he and Athena were fighting, and he can still fight.

The moon is on their side, and he can _definitely_ fight.

"Apollo, that is a _bad_ look in your eyes, just calm down and tell him you're _fine—_ "

"Apollo? _Schei—_ "

The blurry person's hand pats at his cheek—gently, he will think in retrospect, but in the moment his body takes it as a threat, and that is all that's needed to break the tenuous balance.

Pain rips through his body, but it is a _beautiful_ pain, and his howl is one of utter joy as he welcomes the Change.

His teeth sink into the arm of the man who attacked him, drawing blood and a string of disbelieving German curses. He tries to attack again, but his lunge is brought up short by objects wrapped around his legs, around his chest, around his throat.

It only takes him about thirty seconds to free himself, a combination of writhing and tearing leaving the restraints only scattered bits of colored cloth littering the floor.

After that's taken care of, he turns back to his attacker, lips curled up in a rumbling snarl.

"Stop!" Clay's arms wrap tight around his neck, haul him back. "You are _not_ eating one of the prosecutors! Especially since I think that's one of the ones you _like_!"

Apollo blinks, looking between Clay and his attacker.

Toward _Klavier_ , who may be someone he fights with but is also pack, and this fight is clearly over, Apollo having drawn first and last blood.

"You..." Klavier stares across the length of the bathroom at Apollo, and Apollo realizes that he can still see blues just fine, though the _shade_ of Klavier's eyes looks different right now. Purple doesn't look right, though, the jacket that is now on the ground next to Klavier looking too dark. Why isn't it on Klavier? Why is it folded oddly, as though it had been intended as a pillow? "You..."

Licking his lips, Apollo tastes and smells blood. It should make him happy, he thinks. He has clearly bested Klavier. But something about this doesn't seem right.

" _Werwolf_." Klavier is using the German word, Apollo thinks, the accent making it even harder to understand than most words.

Taking a step forward, tail raised behind him, ears pricked forward in a gesture of friendliness, Apollo whuffs out an inquiry.

Klavier doesn't respond, though his eyes don't flick away from Apollo. His left hand is holding his right arm at the elbow, above the deep bite wounds and the torn black shirt.

Apollo gives his tail a little flick back and forth, and a high-pitched yip in the back of his throat should tell Klavier that there's no hard feelings as he paces slowly up to him. Snuffling the torn edges of the night-dark fabric—something soft, that smells vaguely of insects underneath a deeply impressed scent of _Klavier—_ Apollo allows his tongue to lap out against the wounds.

Klavier starts, as though he doesn't know what's happening despite having watched Apollo's approach, but he doesn't pull away. The tension in his arm relaxes, slowly, and the sound of blood pattering to the floor fades away.

Apollo divides his attention between Klavier's arm and his face, giving small licks and nips, trying to reassure him that everything's all right. He and Apollo were fighting, true, but Apollo won, and there's nothing for Klavier to worry about now.

The door to the bathroom swings open again, and a young man stumbles through as though he's been pushed from behind, the blue of his Themis Academy uniform standing in stark contrast to his suddenly pale skin.

"Oh hell," Hugh O'Conner says.

 _That_ is the name that goes with the scent, and Apollo can feel his tail waving happily at the successful retrieval of the memory.

Hugh immediately spins on his heel, shoving his head out the door. " _Juniper!_ I need you _right now!_ This has gone _way_ beyond bathroom etiquette rules!"

Apollo huffs out a breath, settling down on the floor next to Klavier and giving Clay a long-suffering look. Why is everyone panicking? The moon is full and their pack is safe and everything is _fine_.

Clay settles down on the floor next to Apollo, burying his cold hand in the fur of Apollo's ruff and petting him carefully. " _You_ might be fine with how things are going right now, but I'm pretty sure no one _else_ is."

Apollo opens his mouth to bark out a reply when the bathroom door bangs open forcefully, and Phoenix Wright marches in, Juniper, Trucy, and Athena peering around him, expressions combining various amounts of surprise (high for Athena, low for Juniper) and horror (highest for Juniper, lowest for Trucy).

Phoenix's eyes dart around the room. "Apollo?"

Apollo sits up, ears perked, tail giving a brief wag. Does Phoenix have a task for him?

Phoenix stares at him, mouth twitching in obvious disbelief. His eyes roam once more around the room, taking in the bits of scattered cloth, Klavier sitting on the floor, and Apollo himself. He doesn't seem to notice Clay, though, his gaze passing right over him without pause.

Phoenix's eyes stay on Apollo for a moment before he shakes his head, frowning as he turns to Klavier. "Prosecutor Gavin, what happened? Where's Apollo?"

For a moment Klavier doesn't answer, his eyes moving jumpily from the blood beside him to Apollo to his injured arm and finally to Phoenix. Then he _giggles_ , a high-pitched sound that Apollo has never heard from him before. " _Apollo ein Werwolf ist._ "

After that proclamation Klavier promptly passes out.

Apollo beats Trucy to the prosecutor's side, but he finds that paws aren't nearly as good at maneuvering people as hands are, and he waits impatiently for her to move Klavier so that Apollo can nuzzle at his face.

Phoenix turns very slowly to Hugh, Juniper, and Robin, who crammed her way into the bathroom in the midst of Klavier's exclamation. "I think some explanations are in order. I also think they should be very fast."

XXX

Juniper stares down at Apollo and Klavier.

Apollo is just as gorgeous in wolf form as she had imagined he would be, though he doesn't look quite like the wolf in her dreams did. Their wolf forms look very similar to but not _exactly_ like normal wolves, being on average too large, too broad in the shoulder, and too sharp of tooth and claw. Apollo is small, for one of them, as she had expected. Where she had imagined him lithe and slim, though, he is remarkably well-muscled, and he sits with head and tail and ears high, utter confidence. A small patch of longer fur on top of his head is parted into two thin spikes, and they seem to point towards Juniper, just like Apollo's little hair-horns will when he's interested in something.

If not for the fact that he's confident where he should be terrified, meaning a possible loss of his humanity, and the bloody prosecutor on the floor, meaning another crime on Juniper's head and a crime on Apollo's that they really don't need right now, it could be a dream come true.

"Ms. Woods?" Mr. Wright's voice is stern, sharp, the direct, probing tone that he uses when preparing to press a witness.

It makes the hair stand up on the back of Juniper's neck—not in fear, but in anger. She is here with her pack, and she will _not_ be challenged in front of them.

Except it will do Hugh, Robin, Apollo, and Klavier absolutely no good if she gives in to the wolf prowling just beneath her skin, no matter how satisfying the full moon makes the prospect seem. The wolf got them into this mess, but it's her human side that can dig them out.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Though she thinks it's going to involve breaking several more rules before the day's out.

Starting right now, because she can't think of a way to explain everything in a reasonable fashion such that they don't take Apollo and Klavier to a hospital, and that would be one of the worst decisions they could make.

Meeting Mr. Wright's eyes evenly, Juniper draws a deep breath and prepares to get herself in even more trouble. "What I tell you doesn't leave this room, no matter what. And if anyone asks you who you heard all this from, who broke trust, it was me. Just me. Robin and Hugh had nothing to do with telling you anything."

"Junie—" Robin's hand closes around her right elbow.

" _Juniper—_ " Hugh's hand is on her left shoulder, and the scent of fear suddenly permeates the air around her pack.

"We don't have a _choice_ , and this was my fault." Juniper turns her gaze from Robin to Hugh and back, waiting for them to avert their eyes and duck their heads. "No matter what happens, the two of you aren't to Change until we're somewhere safe, and you're _not_ to take any responsibility for breaking secrecy laws. This is all on me."

They want to argue with her. She can see it in their eyes, _smell_ it in the tension that still swirls around them. But they know better than to challenge her here, _now_ , when the Change hangs over all of their heads like the sword of Damocles, ready to drop at the slightest provocation.

Athena and Trucy are on the floor at Klavier's side. The prosecutor's head is resting in Trucy's lap, while Athena carefully pries away the remnants of his sleeve, looking at where Apollo's teeth dug in. The injuries are already well-scabbed, all but one healing cleanly and far too quickly to be normal. Klavier's breathing is fast and shallow, his eyes already moving restlessly under their lids. The rest of the day is not going to be pleasant for him—for any of them—and she spares a moment to pray to the Lady that they all survive before turning back to Mr. Wright.

"I'm what you would call a werewolf." It's strange, how easy it is to say the words. She had thought they would stick in her throat, or come out jumbled, but she sounds more confident now than she thinks she ever has when interacting with this man. "I accidentally bit Apollo, during the courtroom bombing. I didn't remember doing it, because of... everything, so I didn't get a chance to warn him. This is the first full moon since then—the first time he's Changed. He most likely had no idea what was happening to him."

"Apollo's a werewolf." Phoenix points at Apollo's wolf form, which is alternately licking Klavier's neck and staring at Juniper. " _That's_ Apollo?"

Juniper stares at the wolf that she has dreamt of, the wolf that shouldn't be, and her voice cracks when she answers. "Yes."

"Just look at the evidence, Mr. Wright!" Robin's hands are both clenched into fists, her face pale, but she stares down the defense attorney with a stubborn frown. "Whose shredded clothes are those on the floor?"

"And Prosecutor Gavin basically confirmed that the wolf is Apollo." Hugh pushes his glasses up on his nose. "I'm sure you're intelligent enough to determine what _werwolf_ means. Plus—"

"All right." Mr. Wright holds up a hand. "Okay. Apollo's a werewolf. What do we _do_ about it, and what does that mean for Prosecutor Gavin?"

Juniper blinks, surprised at how easily he accepts a story that the packs try _very_ hard to keep in the realm of silly mythology. "You... believe me?"

"It's not the strangest thing that's ever happened to me. Or..." Mr. Wright frowns. "Well, it probably ranks up there in the top three, and I would have a hard time determining if _psychotic serial-killer ghost flitting about the courtroom_ counts above or below _junior partner becomes a werewolf_ , but you're right. The preponderance of evidence is in favor of you right now, I see no reason you'd lie to me, and at least it gives us a framework to work within. So. What do we do?"

Everyone is staring at her, from her rebellious pack—she narrows her eyes at both of them, letting them know she noticed them skirting the edges of her rules—to Athena to Trucy to Mr. Wright. They're waiting for her to tell them the best course of action, which is really what she _wanted_ , to try to prevent them from doing something that will make things worse. She can think of several dozen possibilities that will make this whole mess somehow worse.

But what should she do to make it _better_?

"We need to get out of here." Juniper speaks with more certainty than she feels. "Before someone else comes in—"

Hugh glances at the door. "Someone who actually needs to use the bathroom, say."

"Right." Juniper nods decisively. "And I need to get Apollo back in human form as soon as I can, make sure he's still... well, I need to do that soon. But he'll be naked. So probably best to wait until we're somewhere it either doesn't matter or we've got clothes for him."

"And probably somewhere sound-proof." Robin rubs self-consciously at one of her ears. "I'm surprised he's being so quiet right now. I was super-loud all during my first full moon."

"Right. Somewhere sound-proof, where no one will care about a naked defense attorney. I'm guessing closer is likely better than far away, too..." Phoenix crosses his arms in front of his chest, and Juniper is surprised to see him clearly considering multiple options.

" _Buro_." Attention in the room whips from Phoenix to Klavier, who is sitting up with assistance from Trucy and Athena. Klavier speaks slowly, each word seeming to cost a great deal. "My... office. Sound-proof."

Mr. Wright considers for a moment before shaking his head. "Too small for the number we've got, and I'd hate for anything important to get destroyed. Someone's house would be better."

Athena shakes her head. "I'd volunteer, but I've just got an apartment."

Trucy pats Apollo on the head, showing absolutely no fear. "He's got an apartment; we've got a house, but it's small, and the neighbors are close."

"I'm going to go make a quick phone call. Lock the door behind me." Phoenix hesitates, glancing just once towards Apollo. "It's safe?"

"As safe as anything's going to be for the next few days." Juniper smiles, studying Apollo's wolf. "You don't want to hurt anyone, right, Apollo?"

Apollo's chest puffs out and his hackles rise in obvious irritation, but his ears stay forward, his tail up. Can he even understand them anymore? He must, right? Apollo's too strong—too _determined—_ to lose himself this easily.

Loosing a bit more of her own wolf, Juniper tries to ask if he intends harm, though wolf vocalizations without the body language to go with them are a poor approximation.

She freezes midway through the question, though, her wolf-grayed vision fixed on a spot by Apollo's left side where a man is sitting. A man who wasn't there before she let the Change touch part of her body, a man who has no smell, and Juniper has seen him before, watched his picture flash across the television screen for long days in December.

Clay Terran notices she is staring very quickly, leaning first right and then left, clearly checking to ensure that her eyes follow his movement. Then he crows out a joyous whoop. "You can see me?"

Juniper nods.

"Fantastic! And hear me, even better. Tell them Apollo's not going to hurt anyone." Clay smiles at her, his hand stroking repeatedly through Apollo's fur. "He was just really worked up from the courtroom, I think—all in fighting mode, and then Gavin surprised him mid-transformation. Besides, I can catch him in this form. No danger."

Juniper tries to say that there's no danger, and finds that her tongue doesn't want to form human words. It takes her several seconds of struggle and Robin's hands on her arm before she is able to blink, draw a deep breath, and shove her wolf down before she Changes completely. "The ghost of Clay Terran, who is currently petting Apollo, says Apollo won't be a danger to anyone."

Everyone but Phoenix just stares hard at her, her made-wolves included. Has she not told them that their wolves can see the spirits of the lingering dead? It's not a gift they have cause to use often, but it's probably something she should make sure they're warned about.

"Really?" Phoenix sighs in relief. "Thanks, Clay. Everyone just hold down the fort, then, and I'll be back in a few minutes, with a secure place for us to go. Oh, you might also want to deal with the blood and picking up the clothing bits. We want to leave as little evidence behind as possible."

" _Boss_." Athena is still serving as a back-brace for a shivering Klavier, Widget changing colors in rapid succession on her chest. For a moment Juniper thinks that Athena is going to protest Phoenix's orders—orders which sound suspiciously like they come from a mafioso or someone familiar with hiding crimes. Instead Athena squeaks out a single word. "Ghost?"

"Ghost. _Those_ I know are real." Phoenix shrugs. "Trust me, Athena. We'll get things sorted out."

Phoenix ducks out of the bathroom. Hugh locks the door as soon as Phoenix has exited. Robin begins gathering up Apollo's torn clothing, and pulls free a large wad of paper towels to begin sopping up Prosecutor Gavin's blood.

That will be good, getting rid of the blood. Having that as a background smell isn't helping anyone's control.

Kneeling down by Athena, Juniper studies Klavier and tries to decide how to explain the next few hours to him in the least frightening way possible.

XXX

Klavier stares down at his arm, snippets of the last few minutes of conversation racing across his thoughts like falling stars before disappearing over the horizon, hard to see and impossible to grasp.

His arm is healed.

He tries to focus just on that, on the fact that the torn skin and exposed muscle have knit back together into a very functional appendage. That's good. He had been scared, in the minutes that followed Apollo's unexpected attack, that there would be damage that would affect his finger dexterity, and that would be bad because—because—

Was it this hard to string two thoughts together an hour ago?

Something warm and wet slides across the skin of his neck, and Klavier turns his head to look at the wolf that has Apollo's eyes. Beautiful eyes, really, now that the sheen of pain and confusion and fury that had made them seem to glow with golden brilliance is gone, and Klavier reaches out with his left hand, tentatively touches the fur of the wolf's neck. It is softer than he had imagined Apollo's hair would be, though the color is right, a rich dark brown against his golden skin, and he spends a moment just staring.

"Prosecutor Gavin?"

A hand touches his right shoulder, and Klavier turns to face the young woman, though the world seems to wobble uncomfortably around him as he does. " _Ja_ , Fraulein Arboretum?"

Juniper's expression changes, from tentative uncertainty to exasperation like Ema usually shows him, and Klavier regrets using the nickname.

The fingers of his right hand clench, and he stares down at the torn sleeve of his shirt. His arm is _healed_ , most of the injuries wiped away completely, though a crescent-moon scar now covers a three-centimeter swath of his inner forearm.

" _Prosecutor Gavin_." Juniper's tone is commanding, but there is a tremor underneath it, and Klavier forces himself to lift his head, to focus on her.

He _likes_ Juniper, after all. She is a smart young woman, one of Professor Courte's last students, and she has a lovely singing voice. If she wished to train it up a bit, once she is done with her schooling—

"Klavier." Trucy's hand covers his mouth. "I think you should really stop humming and try to focus on what Juniper's saying, all right?"

Is he humming? He didn't mean to do that. "Sorry. I just... I feel..." He can't think of the English word, so he tries the German one, just in case the English one will follow. " _Unwohl_."

"He's infected, isn't he?" Athena is still supporting him, most of his weight resting against her. He should probably try to change that, to sit up on his own, but his body feels distant, disconnected and far away. "What happened to Apollo, it's happening to him."

"Worse than that." Juniper's voice is a soft whisper, and her eyes are troubled as she watches him. "I didn't mean to bite Apollo, but I did it at just about the right time, if he had asked to be Changed. We try to bite someone in the week leading up to the new moon, to give their body and mind the maximum time to adjust before the Change takes them."

What phase is the moon at right now? Klavier can't remember if he even saw the moon yesterday. Though he supposes, looking at the wolf who was Apollo, that he knows what phase the moon is at. "Full moon. _Werwolfe_ change... at the full moon."

"Yes." Juniper takes Klavier's right hand in hers. "During the night of the full moon—tonight—and for the two nights on either side—yesterday and tomorrow night—all of our people Change, no matter where they are, no matter if they want it or not. That includes Apollo... and, now, you."

" _Nein_." Klavier shakes his head. "I am not a _werwolf_."

"Maybe not quite yet, but you will be by the time the full moon rises tonight." Juniper turns his arm over, traces the crescent-shaped scar with one fingertip. "This scar—every made wolf, every wolf Changed by someone's bite, has one like it. Apollo likely has one on his chest; Hugh has one on his neck; Robin has one on her left arm. And you have one here."

The fingers of Klavier's left hand follow Juniper's, trace over the white crescent moon embedded in his skin.

"Junie." Widget is glowing a dark blue, and Klavier doesn't need Athena's special gifts to hear the tension and fear in her voice. "What's it _mean_ , Klavier getting bitten now instead of three weeks ago?"

"It means it's going to be a lot less pleasant for you. I'm sorry." Juniper's eyes are bright with unshed tears. "Normally you'd have three weeks for body and mind to acclimate to the wolf; you're going to have about eight hours."

"And if I can't acclimate?" Klavier suspects that he knows the answer already, but he wants to hear it said out loud.

"If your body can't handle the Change, you'll die. Usually of a heart attack or a stroke or an aneurysm, so at least it's quick. But don't worry!" Juniper smiles, though the expression is strained. "You're young and healthy. The likelihood of that happening is really small."

"But there is something that worries you." Klavier sits up a bit straighter, forcing his thoughts to focus. If this is real, if this is something other than one of the strangest nightmares he has had—though not the worst, not by a long shot, and when turning into a werewolf because the defense turned into a wolf while you were trying to help him and attempted to rip your arm off counts _low_ on the list of nightmares, far beneath anything having to do with your brother—

 _Focus._

He needs to focus.

"It's all right." Juniper is holding his hand tightly, and there is an earnestness to her words that makes Klavier think she doesn't entirely believe them. "It's just—well, there's a lot of things that are really complicated about this right now. Like the fact that you and Apollo shouldn't exist. We're supposed to get permission from all the local packs before Changing anyone. That... shouldn't affect you, though. You haven't broken any rules yet. You haven't told anyone about us, you haven't Changed anyone—you'll get through the next twenty-four hours, and we'll find you a pack, and you'll be fine."

Apollo yips out something that sounds like an agreement.

"Juniper." Klavier studies her—studies the way she is watching Apollo, with a combination of awe and deep sorrow. "If you are not worried about me dying, what _are_ you worried about?"

"You can lose your humanity." Hugh kneels down behind Juniper's left shoulder, watching Klavier with sympathetic eyes. "Or at least have your mental capacity damaged. When you do everything by the books, they spend about thirty minutes talking to you about all the ways things can go wrong, making sure you want to do it."

"And even when things are done right, there's a possibility anyone can die, if their body or mind outright rejects the transformation." Robin doesn't meet Klavier's eyes, her hand holding the area on her upper arm where her friendship bracelet lies hidden beneath her shirt—where her _scar_ lies hidden, Klavier realizes. "Not to scare you. Because being a wolf is actually really, really awesome! But it's also super important that you understand what's happening and try to, you know—relax into it? Especially since it's pretty much going to hit you like a sledgehammer sometime in the next hour or so."

"If not sooner." Hugh gestures towards Klavier's arm. "Healing like that—it's one of our gifts. Your body's already changing."

Trucy perks up. "Ooooh, I bet that's how Apollo managed to escape getting super hurt in the courtroom incidents, despite being crushed and then pummeled over the head!"

Juniper nods. "His Change was much more gradual, but yes, I'm sure it helped with his healing."

" _In Ordnung_. Okay." Klavier casts another glance at Apollo, trying to imagine himself doing... whatever it was that Apollo did when he changed. Klavier _watched_ it, though he hadn't believed his eyes, and he's not sure he could _describe_ it, and he's fairly certain he doesn't want to _experience_ it, but he doesn't seem to have much choice in the matter. "I will be a werewolf. You said—there are rules?"

"Yes." Juniper relaxes back, some of the tension draining out of her, and Klavier can see Hugh and Robin relax as she does. "Not many. Pretty basic ones, really. Don't Change in front of normal humans. Don't tell anyone about what you are unless you're planning on Changing them, and then only with the permission of the packs. Oh, and every wolf has to have a pack."

"A pack?" Klavier can feel a headache coming on, and he's not certain if it's because of everything he's hearing or because of the fact that he's turning into a werewolf. He supposes it's really the same thing.

"A pack." Smiling at the two people flanking her, Juniper blushes slightly. "A group of wolves. The minimum size for a pack is at least three. Lone wolves aren't tolerated—they're considered too dangerous. That's something we can talk about tomorrow, though, when everyone's feeling better."

Apollo's muzzle nuzzles once more into the skin of Klavier's neck, his nose damp and cold.

Klavier flinches away, body freezing as his thoughts fragment out of his control again.

He should fight, should try to show that it isn't acceptable for Apollo to treat him like a puppy.

He should submit, because he doesn't really care who's in charge of the pack as long as they take care of the pack.

He should nuzzle back, because Apollo is someone he cares about, deeply, and it's nice to see that Apollo cares about him, too.

He should wake up, before he sinks too far into this madness.

(He should find a way to stop this, to keep himself from being a danger, and if it would be unfair to goad Apollo into killing him—)

 _No_.

He is whimpering, a soft, lonely sound low in his throat that repeats over and over again. He manages to stop, to draw himself together, though he can't quite stop the shivers that are wracking his body despite Athena and Trucy both holding him tightly.

It has been a long time since he wanted to die. Months, counted and hoarded, though Constance Courte's death had pushed him closer to the edge than he was comfortable with. He doesn't like how quickly the idea comes to him now.

Apollo is snuffling and licking at his left hand, whining, a high-pitched keen of confusion and distress.

Klavier forces his hand to move, to rise, though everything feels disconnected and unreal once more. Stroking his hand through Apollo's head fur, feeling the soft flex of Apollo's ears, he forces himself to smile. "No fear, _mein freund_. We're both going to be just fine."

Apollo barks, tail arched over his back, waving to and fro. His mouth drops open, tongue lolling out in what Klavier is fairly certain is a canine gesture of joy.

It's completely off pace from what the rest of them have been discussing. It also feels very _Apollo_ , the certainty in the face of adversity, the confidence even when others are saying it is hopeless, and Klavier finds himself smiling and then laughing as he studies the wolf.

The others join in, hesitantly, and that is when Phoenix Wright knocks very politely on the door.

As soon as Robin turns the lock, Phoenix is through, all energy and determination. "All right, everyone. I've got us a place to go and a couple rides to get there in, so let's get out of here."


	5. Chapter Four: A Long Afternoon

_Chapter Four: A Long Afternoon_

Phoenix sits quietly in the passenger's seat of Detective Dick Gumshoe's squad car, hoping that if he just stays very, very still the detective won't attempt to engage him in conversation.

It works for all of twenty seconds.

"That's a gorgeous pup ya got there, pal!" Gumshoe seems to be spending more time looking in the rear-view mirror at Apollo than he does watching the road.

Given that he still doesn't have a license, Phoenix supposes it's not his place to critique other's driving, but he is a _little_ concerned about how this is going. And a little worried about talking about Apollo while Apollo is sitting right there. He's not entirely sure how much Apollo is understanding right now—from the way Juniper has talked and the way she watches him, Phoenix is getting _very_ concerned about what Apollo's level of understanding is.

Not that he's acted in any way threatening. Which is good, because Trucy seems determined to drape herself all over the wolf, showing absolutely no fear of the beast.

"What kind of breed is he, pal?" Gumshoe turns to Phoenix, smile fading a bit.

"Uh..." Phoenix stares at Apollo. "I have no idea."

"Just a mutt, huh? That's cool, mutts are very cool." Gumshoe's grin returns full-force as he smiles at Trucy in the rear-view mirror. "How do you like having a puppy? Pretty neat, huh?"

"He's the best!" Trucy wraps her arms around Apollo's neck, squeezing tightly.

Juniper makes a small strangled sound, which causes Phoenix's heart-rate to double.

Apollo licks the side of his sister's face before fixing Phoenix with a glare that is every inch the fierce and determined defense attorney Phoenix has come to know and care about over the last two years.

Apparently having decided that Trucy is the better conversational partner, Gumshoe continues on. "Does your pup have a name?"

Trucy hesitates. It's for just a fraction of a second, and Phoenix doubts anyone else in the car would notice, but she _does_ hesitate. Then she grins, hugging the wolf again. "His name's Apollo!"

"What, like your scrawny little attorney?" Gumshoe chuckles. "What does he think of that, huh?"

"He doesn't know yet." Phoenix meets Apollo's eyes—so similar, so eerily, eerily similar between wolf and man—and hopes that he's lying. "I'm sure he's going to be thrilled."

"I'd be pretty thrilled, if someone wanted to name their dog after me. Not much greater affection than that." Gumshoe rubs at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Well—'cept naming a kid after you, I guess. But dogs are like kids. They jus' never grow up."

"I'm pretty sure this one is already fully grown." Phoenix glances at Juniper, who is sitting with one hand very lightly touching Apollo's flank. He wonders, briefly, if the ghost is still following Apollo, and if he is, where in the world Clay Terran has squeezed himself in the rather full patrol car. Though maybe ghosts didn't need to worry about taking up space? He'll have to ask Maya, when he gets a chance to talk to her for longer than a few seconds.

"Yeah, looks like his teeth are all adult ones, but that's not what I mean." Gumshoe narrows his eyes. "And you know it, pal. No playin' lawyer games just because we're friends."

"I wouldn't dream of it, detective." Phoenix makes a placating gesture, trying to include a suggestion that Gumshoe turn his eyes forward to the road in the motion. "Especially not when you're doing me a huge favor here."

"No problem. You're a pal—you ever need anythin', you can call me yourself, y'know." Gumshoe hesitates. "Though Mr. Edgeworth made it sound like this is maybe kind of work related? If you're goin' t' need some kind of protection—"

"No, I think we'll be just fine." A part of Phoenix desperately wishes that he could simply accept the detective's offer—wishes that the threat were something from outside, something that they could use barricades and defenses again. A larger part of him, the part that has learned to be wary and cagey and careful in who he trusts, knows that it's better this way, with him holding most of the cards. "We got out of the courthouse without attracting the attention of... the people we were trying to avoid."

That being anyone and everyone, and Phoenix is glad of many things. Glad that Klavier and Athena had wrapped up the trial for the day, both requesting more time to investigate, before they went chasing after Apollo. Glad that Trucy is calm and assertive and attached at the hip to the wolf, because it meant they attracted less attention than he had feared they would. Glad that Klavier, though he had been shivering and only half-coherent in the bathroom with them, had managed to pull himself together and walk calmly from the courthouse after Phoenix helped him into his jacket. Glad that Edgeworth trusts Phoenix enough to take his request for help and hesitation to share details in stride. Really, as long as Apollo continues to not bite Trucy or any of their other friends, Phoenix will just be _incredibly_ glad with how the whole morning has gone. "We just need somewhere safe to regroup and recuperate."

"Well, Mr. Edgeworth's place should be that, all right." Gumshoe beams proudly. "Can't have the Chief Prosecutor livin' somewhere that people might think's a good target, after all. You know the codes for the security system?"

At least one of the codes is based on Trucy's birthday, but Phoenix sees no gain in pointing this out. "I do."

"And you'll have pretty good protection with that pup of yours. It's amazin' what a big bark can do to intimidate people. Though if you're really worried and want a bit more modern protection—" Gumshoe glances in the rear-view mirror again, eyes sliding from Trucy to Juniper. "It wouldn't be a problem for Ema or me t' stay with you, really."

"No, detective, we're really going to be quite all right. Though I'll make sure to have your number of speed-dial, promise."

"If you're sure, pal." Gumshoe's foot presses down on the accelerator, his eyes narrowing.

Phoenix makes a mental note to keep all the curtains pulled, because he's fairly certain there's going to be a bigger police presence in Edgeworth's neighborhood than usual, and most of them will be focused on Edgeworth's house.

Given that his other brainstorming ideas when trying to think of places he could go with space and no one caring about loud noises were affiliated with the mafia, Phoenix supposes this is the lesser of two evils.

XXX

"And you're _sure_ that there's nothing more you can tell me?" Ema glares at the man sitting in the passenger's seat.

If Klavier notices, he doesn't respond, which is distinctly unlike him. Usually Klavier is acutely aware of how she acts towards him, though his response varies from condescending to woe-is-me wounded-puppy to legitimately hurt, depending on how badly they're miscommunicating that day.

"There's nothing important going on." Athena smiles, but it's a nervous, forced expression, and her fingers keep fiddling with the seat belt that she's wearing.

"Truly, nothing's happening." Hugh O'Conner is a better liar, though Ema trusts his easy certainty and smug smirk about as much as she would trust a leech.

Robin doesn't bother lying to her, at least. The girl is watching Klavier with wide, intent eyes, her nostrils flaring every few minutes.

It wouldn't frustrate Ema if she didn't _know_ that they were all lying. Edgeworth doesn't use his personal connections very often, with the exception of commandeering Detective Gumshoe those few times he gets directly involved in field work. For him to call her _and_ Gumshoe in as basically glorified chauffeurs, with no explanation as to _why—_ something big is going down.

The last time something big was going down, two good people ended up dead.

But she can't think of a reason Edgeworth would trust _Gavin_ with information and not her, and so she's left spinning her mental wheels and fuming while she tries to figure out what's going on.

"Did you... ask me something?" Klavier finally turns from the window he had been looking out, and his motions are slow, jerky and uncertain. His accent is thick almost to the point of making his words unintelligible, his words sometimes not seeming to start with the right sound, as though he's having a hard time deciding what language to use.

"I asked you what's going on, Prosecutor Gavin." Ema speaks clearly and forcefully.

"Ah." Klavier blinks, his left hand moving to cover his right forearm. "I am not... at liberty to say."

"Uh huh." Ema narrows her eyes. "Will we be heading out to the crime-scenes again once we drop these three off at their destination? I heard that the trial ended up in a draw—something about a secret way to get into the apartment?"

Klavier stares at her, pupils expanding until there is barely any blue remaining.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth's taking over that case! Or assigning someone else." Athena leans forward, her right hand resting on Klavier's shoulder. "I wasn't sure on the details, but he needs Prosecutor Gavin for... something else."

Ema raises an eyebrow. "The _something else_ that is nothing I'm supposed to be worrying about?"

Has Gavin taken a breath in the last sixty seconds? Has he _blinked_? He's not having some sort of seizure on her, is he?

Robin's hand reaches over the headrest, stroking across Klavier's head as though he were a dog or a cat. Awkward and strange as the move may be, it seems to jar Klavier out of whatever bad head space he was in. He draws a shuddering breath, leaning back against the seat, his right arm still hugged tight to his body.

Ema frowns, watching him. She knows that any cases involving musicians or siblings can be difficult for him, but he's acting as though he's physically ill. Or drugged.

Rather like a certain defense attorney was during the trial this morning, and Ema's hands clench tight around the wheel. Is that what's going on? Someone's attempting to poison people in the legal system, and Edgeworth's trying to get some of the targets to a safe place? "Should I be heading to the hospital, instead?"

"No!"

All three people in the back seat shout the answer at the same time, with varying levels of fear, aggression, and emphasis.

A full second later Klavier opens his eyes and stares muzzily at her. " _Nein_."

It would be funny, if it weren't freaking her out so much. "Look, guys. You know you can trust me, right? If something's going on, I can help."

"We'll tell you as soon as we can." Athena is leaning forward as far as her seat-belt allows, practically sitting in the median between Ema's seat and Klavier's, crowding Hugh out of the way. "I promise, Ema. But we're still not exactly sure what's going on. We need a safe space to put pieces together, and that's where you're taking us. Because we trust you."

The girl is a psychologist. She's probably trying to manipulate Ema, with her wide, earnest eyes and pleading tone.

It's also working wonderfully, and Ema grits her teeth and resigns herself to not knowing _exactly_ what's going on for at least the next little bit.

She'll just have to bide her time until she has enough pieces to put together into something resembling a coherent picture, and hope nothing horrible happens to anyone she cares about in the meantime.

XXX

Klavier walks into the house under his own power.

Granted, it's more drifting in the general direction that the rest of them seem to be moving than actually seeming to focus on and aim for their destination, but he still walks, seeming calm and collected.

It leaves Phoenix very, very unprepared for the scene that occurs once they're _in_ the house, Gumshoe and Ema safely away.

Phoenix has just finished firing up Miles' security system, because it gives him a sense of peace to know that they'll be warned if anyone other than Miles tries to enter the house—though he should probably be much more worried about something _escaping_ the house, rather than entering.

Juniper is kneeling down by Apollo's side, her eyes fixed on his, taking on a shining, luminous quality that makes the hair on the back of Phoenix's neck stand on end.

It also upsets Apollo, apparently, because the fur that had been lying sleek against his back springs straight up, his lips pull back from his teeth, and a growl that Phoenix can feel resonating in his breastbone emanates from Apollo's chest.

At which point Klavier drops to his knees, hands pressed to his ears, screaming as though someone is trying to skin him alive.

Which may very well be the way he feels, given the way Gavin's muscles are jumping under his skin.

Juniper leaps away from Apollo, covering about three times the distance that Phoenix expects her to, her own lips pulled back in a snarl, teeth looking just a _tiny_ bit sharper than they should.

 _Something_ begins smoothing the fur down on Apollo's back, a quick, repetitive movement by someone that Phoenix can't see, and if the hair on his neck could take a vacation from the rest of him right now, he's fairly certain it would.

And Klavier Gavin continues to scream as though someone's torturing him.

"Juniper, you deal with Apollo. Do—whatever it is that you need to do. Whatever you were talking about before. Get him back in human form. Trucy, help her if you can." It is almost physically painful, turning away from Apollo, but Phoenix needs to divide tasks quickly, and talking the werewolf through a transformation he has never seen and didn't know existed until an hour ago is probably not something he will be good at. Getting Klavier to do what he wants, though... a sour taste fills Phoenix's mouth. _That's_ something he finds himself surprisingly adept at. "Gavin, _stop screaming_."

Klavier immediately clamps his mouth shut, the screams fading to a high-pitched, piteous whimper as he leans away from Phoenix, his head turned just slightly.

Exposing his throat, Phoenix realizes a moment later, and his gut clenches tight as he kneels down by Klavier's side. "It's all right, Klavier. You're all right. Robin, Hugh..."

Phoenix trails off as the two Themis students turn to look at him, and it sinks home, for perhaps the first time, that they truly aren't human.

It shows most around their eyes. The eyes that would look the same, he knows, in their wolf form, but there is something distinctly _other_ about the looks that they give him—half-threatening, half-wary, and he finds himself holding very, very still.

"Sorry." Robin blinks, looking sheepish, and suddenly there is nothing inhuman about the young woman. "Didn't mean to do that. But we should probably stay with Junie while she helps Apollo. It's... apparently not going to be as easy as alpha-ordering him back into his human form."

"Right." Phoenix nods to the man shivering on the floor. "What can we do to help him?"

"Move him somewhere quiet." Hugh's fingers run over the rim of his glasses—reminding himself that he's human? "Somewhere without a lot of light. Ambient light and sounds and smells are agony before your first Change. If it's somewhere that smells comforting to him, that would be best, but I realize our options are limited."

"They are, but maybe not in such a bad way." Phoenix rests a hand tentatively on Klavier's shoulder, ready to jerk away if necessary. He's guessing from the fact that Juniper managed to turn Apollo without his being aware of it that it's quite possible for someone in human form to—what was it Juniper called it? Change someone, capital letter completely audible? Phoenix would prefer not to become the next victim of the werewolf outbreak if he can avoid it. "Klavier." Better to use Klavier's given than family name, for this. Klavier's family name is too fraught with agony for both of them still—too much a sign of aggression, of competition, of command, and that is not what Phoenix wants right now. "Can you understand me?"

A slight hesitation in the whimpering, and Klavier's head moves in the faintest nod, his blue eyes slitting open to stare up at Phoenix.

"Do you know where you are?" Athena has come to kneel on Klavier's other side, and she strokes a hand over Klavier's hair, a slow, repetitive movement.

Klavier raises his head slightly, keeping one wary eye on Phoenix, and blinks furiously as he squints around the entry hall. He draws a deep breath, then another and another, and the muscles that had been tense under Phoenix's hand slowly relax. "Chief... Prosecutor's... house?"

"Yeah, that's right." Phoenix has to swallow a lump in his throat at the pleading, hopeful way Klavier says Miles' title. Though it's a very different group from the one Phoenix has collected at the Wright Anything Agency, in both make-up and general attitude, Miles has accumulated a remarkable family of incredibly loyal people in the Prosecutor's Office. "You remember what's happening?"

" _Ja_. Apollo and I... _werewolfe_." The prosecutor laughs, though the sound trails off into something suspiciously like a sob. "Didn't think... it would be... like this."

Athena continues to stroke Klavier's hair. "Like what?"

"So hard... to think. So... _schmerzlich_."

" _Schmerzlich_?" The way Athena says the word, her eyebrows drawing together, makes Phoenix think it isn't quite the curse he had assumed it was. "Not _schmerzhaft_? Or _qualvoll_?"

"Mr. Wright." Juniper's voice is tight, controlled, but the way Athena's eyes flick to her, Athena's fingers touching Widget, make it clear there is much more beneath the surface. "Can you take him somewhere else? I need to work with Apollo. Now. And anyone who isn't one of us should likely try to avoid being between me and him."

"Right." Phoenix rubs a hand briskly over his face. It's probably best they interrupt whatever conversation Klavier and Athena are having, before it moves completely into a language Phoenix can't understand. "Shoes off, everyone."

Everyone in the room other than Trucy stares at him.

"Fine." Phoenix narrows his eyes. "Anyone who doesn't want to take their shoes off can explain to the Chief Prosecutor why they tracked mud all over his floors."

A pile of shoes quickly appears next to the door—and Phoenix notes that all three werewolves are wearing slip-ons of one variety or another. Athena coaxes Klavier into a more human sitting position and helps him with the laces on his boots, speaking in a quick, quiet patter as she does, switching languages every other word or so. Phoenix is pretty certain that Klavier doesn't speak anything other than German, but the cadence and tone of the words seems to soothe him, anyway, the corded muscles in his neck relaxing, no tremors and twitches running up and down his arms.

Trucy comes up while Phoenix and Athena are negotiating sides, trying to figure out how they're getting Klavier vertical again. Wrapping her arms around the prosecutor's neck, she hugs him just as tightly and fiercely as she has Apollo's wolf. "You're going to be just fine, Klavier. You and Apollo are going to be the prettiest wolves together."

Klavier blinks, his eyes slowly focusing on Trucy as she pulls away, and a smile touches his mouth. "We will be, Trucy. I could not disappoint my biggest fan, after all." Klavier tries to stand on his own, and ends up on his hands and knees, frowning fiercely at the floor. "Athena? Mr. Wright? If you... don't mind..."

Phoenix takes Klavier's left arm, Athena his right, and together they get him vertical and heading for one of Miles' guest bedrooms.

Trucy's hand tugs briefly on Phoenix's jacket sleeve as they walk past. "What're we going to tell Uncle Edgeworth about all the werewolf fur we're going to get everywhere?"

"We're going to tell him that he loves dogs and that he got one when he wasn't paying attention." When Trucy rolls her eyes, Phoenix affects a wounded expression. "Well, then, you come up with a better excuse. And be careful not to get bitten."

"Apollo won't bite me unless I ask him." Trucy's voice is utterly confident, though her expression flickers as she studies Klavier, taking on a mixture of concern and uneasiness. "And I'm not going to ask him to do it until the time's right."

"Right." His daughter wants to become a werewolf. Phoenix really shouldn't be surprised by this. "Juniper, do you need anything else?"

Juniper shakes her head, her eyes never leaving Apollo's wolf form, which is now sprawled gracelessly in the foyer, receiving a belly rub from probably the same invisible person that was petting his ruff before. "Just time."

"Time we have." Phoenix glances at the clock on the wall. Seven hours to moon rise. That should be plenty of time, right? "We'll be back once we have Klavier situated."

Juniper's pack comes to flank her, their eyes also fixed on Apollo, taking on the same luminous sheen that Juniper's had when everything exploded.

Klavier whines, a soft, inhuman sound, and Phoenix quickens his pace.

He'll come back out in a few minutes, and Apollo will be naked and frustrated and likely very angry, but everything will be all right.

Phoenix has to believe that, because the alternatives are too horrible to imagine.

XXX

Apollo is a dominant wolf.

An _incredibly_ dominant wolf.

He shouldn't be. Made wolves aren't dominant. Most born wolves assume that it's part of the process of Changing—that the conflict between human and wolf as the person being turned finds equilibrium makes for submissive wolves. Glancing at her pack, Juniper begins to wonder if instead it's that those most likely to be approved for the Change are those who will make more submissive wolves.

Not that either of her wolves is a doormat. Robin, in particular, can be fierce and aggressive, in both wolf and human form. But Juniper is more dominant than both her wolves, able to hold their pack together and help both Hugh and Robin with anything from a difficult transformation to difficulty holding their humanity.

Apollo is almost certainly more dominant than her, though.

"Whatever you did before?" Clay's ghost is kneeling on the ground next to Apollo, scratching the wolf's belly fur. "I would recommend _not_ doing that again. It just seemed to make him angry."

"We need to get him back in human form." Holding a partial Change, so that she can both see and talk with the ghost, is incredibly easy right now, though Juniper can feel the moon's pull trying to draw her all the way into her wolf form. "All I was trying to do is establish dominance so that he'll listen to me."

"Yeah, not a good idea. Apollo has never liked someone telling him what he can and can't do." Clay makes a face that shows he clearly doesn't like the idea of her ordering Apollo about, either. "Why don't you just _ask_ him to change back? It's something he can literally do in his sleep."

"Because he hasn't tried to Change back on his own. Because I don't know if he'll _understand_ what we're asking, if we use human words." Juniper's hands curl, and she can feel her fingernails lengthening, thickening, sharpening into claws that will be far better for fighting. "Look at him. He's not reacting at all to what we're saying, just to our tones of voice. There might not be an Apollo to ask to come back."

Trucy drops down next to the wolf, on the side opposite Clay, glaring at Juniper with shining eyes as she buries her hands in the fur of Apollo's ruff. "Don't say that! Apollo's just fine. Right, Polly? Juniper's going to show you what to do, and you're going to change back and be just fine."

"He really did just change back on his own last night. Well, this morning." Clay's fingers toy with Apollo's ears, smooth the little patches of fur sticking up on his head, though the two antenna immediately snap back up. "That means he can control it, right?"

"He likely didn't know what was happening last night. The moon calls the wolf out; the sun's light urges it back inside. If he thought it was a dream or a nightmare, he could very easily have done everything instinctively, without too much struggle." They are very, very lucky that Apollo didn't leave his apartment, decide to go hunting or exploring in the city in wolf form and do something that they would all have to regret. Or... Juniper studies Clay. Maybe not lucky. "You might also have helped him. Ghosts are constantly taking energy from their environment—little bits of it, nothing that's missed much. But to touch him like you are, you're also spending energy, more than a ghost would normally have. You might be siphoning from him."

Clay immediately pulls his hand away from Apollo, his face paling in horror.

"It's not a bad thing!" Juniper makes the hasty correction as Apollo's wolf rolls swiftly to his feet, jaws closing very gently over Clay's hand. Holding Clay in place, but not hurting him, and it's clear that Apollo doesn't want the ghost to move away or leave. "Especially around the full moon, we have far too much energy. If we want to continue to look human, we've got to find ways of our own to drain some of it."

"If we don't..." Hugh shrugs. "You saw what he was like in court this morning. We call it being moon-drunk."

"That's a good way to describe it." Clay reaches out and tentatively strokes a finger over Apollo's head, and Apollo releases Clay's other hand from his mouth. "So... I might have been helping him?"

"Probably." Robin rubs up against Juniper's arm, a very wolf gesture of affection and excitement. "We might actually be able to use that, later today! If he helped Apollo with his transformation, maybe he can help Klavier!"

"Something for us to think about." A stab of guilt runs through Juniper. She _likes_ Klavier, he's both a talented prosecutor and was incredibly kind to her after Professor Courte's murder, but at the moment anything that tries to distract her from Apollo just _annoys_ her. Which isn't what Apollo would want, she's fairly certain, and her guilt only increases. Her head is starting to ache, the strain of maintaining an in-between form settling in faster than she would like. "One problem at a time, though. First Apollo back in human form, so we can explain what's happening and make sure he's all right."

"Right." Hugh watches her, one eyebrow raised. "Suggestions?"

She wants to just force him back into his human form, see within seconds what remains of the man she has admired for the last months.

Apollo's wolf watches her with wary eyes, his head dropping fractionally.

"Apollo." Juniper drops to all fours, so that she is on his level. "Can you understand me at all?"

His head tilts, just slightly.

"Apollo, you need to come back." Averting her eyes is difficult, because she is the experienced wolf, she is the alpha of her pack, she should be the one in control. Averting her eyes is easy, because he _is_ more dominant than her, she _trusts_ him, he is _gorgeous_. Except thinking like that is _really_ not helpful now, and she pushes it aside.

Apollo's muzzle extends tentatively towards her, his nose pressing cold against her hand.

"Apollo..." Stroking her fingertips against his ear tips, Juniper inhales his scent. His fur is so soft; his scent is so similar, _Apollo_ underwritten now with the tingling power of the Change and the muskiness of the wolf; and she _wanted_ this, but not _like_ this. "We're going to try to guide you, all right? Robin and Hugh and I are going to Change, and we're going to try to guide you through the transformation. Clay, Trucy, try to call his human mind back—Trucy, be sure to stay somewhere none of us can bite you."

"Right, I got that the first seven hundred times someone was worried." Trucy kisses the top of Apollo's head, ruffles his ears, bats at the little antenna, and retreats to the wall farthest from where they are.

Clay grins up at her. "Ghosts can't become werewolves, right?"

Juniper blinks. "I... don't think so?"

Clay looks to her left and right.

Robin points at herself. "Don't look at me! I didn't even know that ghosts were real until this afternoon."

Hugh crosses his arms in front of his chest. "A rather large oversight in our education, I'd say."

Juniper huffs out a frustrated breath. "It's not usually something important! All right, everybody ready? Go just far enough into the wolf to claim your shapes. Remember we're among people. We don't want to accidentally hurt anyone."

Robin and Hugh nod, and Juniper begins peeling her clothes off.

Trucy makes a squeaky noise that Juniper hasn't heard before, hands rising to cover her eyes.

"Right." Juniper's voice is raspy, her vocal cords already trying to change. "Sorry. Less damage to clothes we'll need later if we take them off now."

"That's fine! It's cool!" Trucy peeks out from between her fingers, then hastily covers her eyes again, though a moment later Juniper catches a glimpse of the girl peeking once more.

She doesn't have time to say anything more, though. The Change is always eager to claim them at this time of month, and it washes over her in hot, tingling waves. Bones elongate; muscle mass shifts; her sense of smell, already sensitive, explodes; and she topples forward into her wolf form, a howl rising from her as she does.

A howl that is answered, her pack coming to press their shoulders against her sides as they face the wolf that is-and-isn't pack.

 _Change_ , she wills as strongly as she can, her own change still clinging to her bones and fur.

Apollo's hackles rise, a rumble starting deep in his chest, and Juniper can feel the fur on her back leap to attention.

Robin and Hugh move away from her, moving out to flank Apollo, to keep him from escaping.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Clay doesn't move to stand between them, apparently having enough self-preservation instinct to avoid that. "Calm down, guys. You were just going to change into your wolves and then change back, so Apollo can follow your lead, right?"

It feels too much like giving in. It feels too much like leaving unfinished business, because there will need to be a reckoning between them, a decision reached.

But Juniper can be patient, in wolf or in human form, and she _remembers_ , clearly, how _important_ this task felt when she was human.

Gathering herself, willing her fur to rest flat against her back again, Juniper takes a step back from Apollo and tries once more to summon her Change.

XXX

Juniper wants him to do something.

So does Clay.

So does Trucy.

Apollo's ears pin themselves back against his head as he looks between his friends, trying to decide what it _is_ that they want from him. Everyone has been frightened for the last two hours or so, acting strangely, and he doesn't understand. He has tried to do what he can, to nuzzle comfortingly against Trucy and Athena and Klavier when they let him, but it doesn't seem to make them feel better. Klavier is acting as though he's _sick_ , stumbling and whimpering, though there is no hint of illness in his scent, just a growing undertone of _wolf_ that makes Apollo's tail want to wag happily.

 _Something_ brushes against his mind again, a pressure that he doesn't _like_ , and Apollo's hackles immediately rise. His eyes fix on Juniper, who is currently in wolf form, standing with her head down and her eyes fixed challengingly on him.

He doesn't like her challenging him.

He doesn't like her trying to _force_ something on him, especially something he doesn't _understand_ but that brings a hint of pain with it.

They will have to settle things between them. Though she is Athena's good friend, is becoming a good friend of his, they cannot be part of the same pack without deciding who is the leader. Especially if she is going to keep trying to _force_ something on him—he doesn't like _anyone_ forcing anything on him.

And Juniper is not the _only_ one attempting to do it. Robin and Hugh, both in their proper wolf forms, have flanked him, and their hackles are also up, the same suggestion that is rolling off Juniper rolling off them as a softer request.

"Apollo, hold on." Cold hands bury themselves in Apollo's ruff. "Stop _growling_ , you dimwit, they're trying to _help_ you!"

He doesn't understand Clay's words, though he understands the tone of voice. Clay is frustrated with him. Clay thinks that he is doing something foolish. Whimpering low in his throat, Apollo presses his body against Clay's side, eyes flicking between the three wolves threatening them. Does Clay really not understand what's happening here?

"Pollywog!" Trucy shouts the nickname from the doorway into the living room proper, and Apollo tries to squint her into focus, catching more of a sense of movement than anything else. " _Listen_ to them, Polly. You've got to become human again so that you can tell me how cool it is to be a wolf!"

Human.

Wolf.

He understands the words, finally, but with the understanding comes a rising tide of panic, and he cannot afford that.

He can't afford to understand, because if he understands, then it's all real.

 _Apollo_. Juniper's wolf paces toward him, two stiff-legged strides, somehow a combination of both begging and command. His name is a whuff of air, a tilt of her head, and this _can't_ be real, it simply _can't_. _Change with us, Apollo._

He knows that Juniper Woods is not actually a wolf. He knows that she is a young woman, that she is studying to be a judge, that in a year or two she will hopefully be his comrade-in-arms in the search for justice.

He knows that she is the wolf standing before him, can _smell_ her identity and _see_ in her eyes and _feel_ in the not-words that press against his mind who the wolf is.

He fights, because that has always been his reaction to pain and terror. If he _doesn't_ fight, if he doesn't make whatever is hurting him stop, there is no one else who will—no one else who _can_.

"Apollo, _please_ , come back." Clay's voice is pure pleading.

"Polly Polly Polly." Trucy chants his name, and he can smell her fear and sorrow, wrapping tight around him.

 _Change Change Change_ , the three wolves who will be a judge, a prosecutor, and a defense attorney shout at him, power tingling over his body, over his mind, _shifting_ their bodies before his eyes, and Apollo _knows_ , finally, that this is no dream.

This is not something that he can wake up from.

This is not something that he can simply will away.

He screams as his own body finally starts to shift. He welcomes it, though there is a familiar pain running up and down his form, twisting his arms and legs and chest into a new configuration. A _proper_ configuration, because his hands are back, fingers their familiar shape rather than the claw-tipped paws they had been before. His wrist feels cold, barren, and he whimpers as he realizes that his bracelet is gone.

"Fi-...you'r-...just fi—..." Clay's voice and image both flicker in and out of focus, like a television that is on its last legs or a poorly-tuned radio.

"Noooo..." The negation is half-howl as Apollo tries to throw his tingling, aching, half-human body at Clay. He can't lose Clay, he can't he can't he can't—

"Polly!" Trucy is on the floor next to him, her hand hovering over but not quite touching his shoulder. "Polly, it's all right, it's okay, you're fine. You're _fine_."

There are tears on her face, and anxiety makes her scent thick and acrid, but she tells him he's fine and there is nothing but utter confidence and certainty in her voice.

He can't say for sure, not without his bracelet, but his tearing eyes and his too-sensitive ears and his smarting nose tell him that she believes the words she is saying.

Her hand lowers, slowly, stroking gently down the back of his head, the back of his neck, giving him plenty of time to move away.

Apollo is usually wary of physical contact. There are very few people that he is comfortable touching and being touched by, especially since Clay died. Trucy is on that short list, though, and he finds his body leaning into her side, burying his face against her shoulder as shivers wrack his still-tingling skin.

"There you go." Trucy smiles, draping her arm more securely over his shoulders. "That was _awesome_ , Polly. Absolutely awesome."

"It didn't... feel awesome." Apollo's tongue feels thick and awkward in his mouth, but he _can_ talk, and that's a good thing. "I feel... awful."

"It will pass." Juniper is kneeling on the floor in front of them.

Stark naked, a quick glance confirms, and Apollo averts his eyes hastily, certain that his face is turning red. "I.. that... this is all... real?"

"Very real." Robin stretches, her arms up above her head, and Apollo decides that he's just going to keep his eyes fixed on Trucy's cape. And probably try to maneuver Trucy's cape so that he's not quite so exposed himself, as soon as he feels steady enough to sit up. Robin continues speaking, turning right and left to stretch muscles in her back. "And just give it a minute or two, you'll feel great again. The full moon makes it easy to Change, even if you're doing it quickly or a bunch of times in a row."

"Plus it gets easier every time you do it." Hugh at least has the decency to sit so that he's not flashing Trucy, which Apollo appreciates. He'd hate to have to punch someone at the moment.

Though, actually... it wouldn't really be that hard to sit up, and he does so gingerly, finding that everything feels... good.

 _Great_ , actually, the same tingling, _ready_ feeling that had greeted him this morning, and he looks down at his hands in dismay.

"It's like..." Robin waves her hands in a circle. "Like a muscle memory, you know? The more you practice it, switching forms, picturing both forms, the easier it gets, and the less disconcerting the actual transformation is."

"Juniper can shift very easily from form to form, with little to no rest between." Hugh reaches up, as though to adjust his glasses, and his fingers grasp awkwardly at the empty air around his temple.

"Right." Apollo turns his eyes back to Juniper, who is still sitting staring straight at him. A low growl builds in his chest, and he finds himself lifting his head, meeting her gaze evenly. "I think... you and I need to talk."

"We do, about a lot of things." Juniper's hands clench, and she lowers her head, a shimmer of tears covering her eyes. "And I'm so, so _glad_ we'll be able to. I thought... I was worried... you _idiot_ , I thought you were _gone_."

Trucy hugs him tight once more before reaching into her pockets. Before Apollo even sees what she's holding a familiar weight slides over his hand and settles around his wrist.

His bracelet. The fingers of Apollo's right hand trace around the band, and he finds that he is able to draw a deep breath and settle into a more relaxed position.

"There we go." Trucy grins before slipping her cape off and draping it around his shoulders. Then she casts a haughty look over her shoulder at Juniper. "I told you it was still Apollo."

"I thought..." Apollo finds himself looking down at his hands again. "I thought it couldn't be real. That it had to just be a dream. So I just... let it be as weird a dream as it wanted to be."

"Probably better, in the long run." Hugh and Robin have both scooted closer to Juniper, and Hugh rests his head against her shoulder. "Better to just be a passenger than actively fight your wolf."

"You're all right." Juniper lowers her head, her hands clenched in her lap, and her voice is thick with tears.

"We're all fine." Robin also rests her head against Juniper's shoulder, smiling at Apollo. "Right, Justice?"

"Right." Apollo forces a smile. "Though I'd, uh, feel a little more fine if everyone were clothed."

Juniper, Robin, and Hugh all laugh. Juniper rubs her chin against the heads of both her wolves, a gesture that Apollo finds himself fascinated by. He _should_ be disturbed, he thinks, by how utterly inhuman it looks, but there is a part of him that _understands_ , that wants to put his head above Juniper's and—

Nope.

No.

Not happening.

"Come on, Apollo. Let's see if we can find anything of Daddy's or Uncle Miles' that'll fit you." Trucy hauls on his shoulder, and Apollo lets her help him up, finding his balance oddly... off.

The ground looks very far away, and he blinks, a cold wind seeming to brush against his side. 

"Shall we meet in the living room in five minutes?" Juniper has moved towards her clothing, is shaking out her skirt. "And then we'll answer all your questions, Apollo."

Apollo gives a breathless laugh. "I doubt that. But... it's nice to have someone wanting to give me information, for once."

"Which means he'll be here with bells on." Trucy smiles mischievously up at him. "Actual bells, if I can find some."

Apollo huffs out a half-laugh, burying his face in Trucy's hair and inhaling deeply. She smells like home, like safety and comfort, and he sighs.

 _Easy there, buddy_. A cold wind whispers in his ear, a familiar voice just on the edge of hearing. _I think it'll be easier to talk if you're human._

"Trucy." Apollo pulls his head free of Trucy's hair, straightening, trying to walk with minimal assistance. "Our lives are really weird."

"Uh huh." Trucy nods vigorously. "But that's all right, because we're fine."

He's not entirely certain she's not teasing him, using his favorite phrase like that, but right now, Apollo doesn't care.

Right now, any reassurance makes him feel just a little better about his sanity.

XXX

Klavier hums to himself as they help him down the hall, a breathy series of notes repeated over and over.

Athena manages to keep from gasping out loud at the sheer emotional weight packed into the simple notes, but her breathing does hitch, and she spends a handful of steps letting Mr. Wright guide the way, her own eyes tearing despite her best efforts.

Mr. Wright leads them into what is clearly a small guest bedroom, turning on the light as he does.

Klavier's humming is broken by a brief whimper, and Mr. Wright immediately flips the light off again. "Right. Easily overwhelmed. Sorry about that."

"No... trouble." Each word seems to take an effort, and Athena draws another shuddering breath, trying to force a separation between herself and what she hears in Klavier's words.

Klavier's eyes flick to her, and his arm slips from around her shoulders, his other from around Mr. Wright's. They aren't far from the bed, and he manages the handful of steps, basically collapsing down on it on his hands and knees. For a moment he just sits there, breathing heavily.

Then he draws a deep breath in through his nose, and another, and something in the set of his shoulders loosens. When he turns back to look at them, his eyes are wide, his voice holding less pain, surprise and gratitude instead sliding in crescendoing tremors beneath each stuttered sound. "Mr. Wright, this... it's..."

"It's the room Trucy usually sleeps in, when she stays with Prosecutor Edgeworth." Mr. Wright shrugs, his hands in his pockets. His stance is deliberately relaxed, his voice carefully controlled, and Athena finds herself watching him, trying to grab onto any variation in his voice so she can follow it to an understanding of what is passing between the two men. "Between her smell and Edgeworth's smell... it's probably about the closest that we can come to something comforting for you."

"Thank you." Klavier turns around so that he is sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly, each movement obviously planned and executed sequentially. It's painful to watch, especially after having seen how he usually moves, graceful and determined. Klavier hugs his right arm to his chest, keeping his head down and tilted just slightly so that his neck is exposed as he faces Mr. Wright. "I... _danke_."

"You're welcome." Mr. Wright rubs at his neck, and Athena _desperately_ wishes she knew what has happened between these two in the past, where this tension and hesitance and _hurt_ is coming from. "I'm going to go see if I can find you something not bloodstained and covered in wolf slobber to wear as a shirt, all right?"

"All right." Klavier raises his head enough to nod.

"Athena..." Mr. Wright turns to her, and she can hear the concern explode in his voice as he takes in her expression. "Are you all right watching him?"

"Yeah." Athena swipes a hand across her face, over her eyes, forcing a grin onto her mouth as she holds up her right hand in a victory sign. "I'll stay with Prosecutor Gavin, start helping him get out of his jacket and trashed shirt."

"Sounds good. Thanks, Athena." Mr. Wright smiles, striding back to the door and slipping out.

Athena starts by closing the curtains all the way, sending the room into a pseudo-twilight. The sun is somewhere on the other side of the house, which is good. Then she approaches the bed and Klavier, breathing slowly and evenly as she does. "Is it all right if I sit next to you?"

"Of c-course, _fraulein_." Klavier smiles, though pain and confusion still drip from every word, hurting her ears. "Don't worry, I won't... won't bite."

"I know you won't." Athena settles down very slowly on the bed next to him. "Would you mind if I touched your shoulder?"

" _Nein_." Klavier turns his head so that he's watching her, though his eyes don't quite meet hers, always dropping down and away. Bemusement turns his declaration into a question.

"I've had some experience." Athena lays a hand on the prosecutor's shoulder, feeling his body trembling minutely again. "With sensory overload. That's why I want to make sure you're all right with anything I do."

"Ah. That's right. Your... your... _begabung_." Klavier's left hand finally releases his arm, rising to cover his eyes for a moment. "Sorry, _fraulein_. I'm... not trying to be difficult."

"It's all right. Sensitive ears, young enough that languages still came pretty easily—I've picked up a bit of a lot of different European languages." Athena keeps her own voice low and soothing. "And you're right, it's my talent that caused me to have overload episodes. Would you like me to unbraid your hair for you?"

Klavier blinks, and Athena pauses, giving him time to follow her change of topic. " _Ja_. If you... don't mind."

"I don't mind." Athena pulls his braid over, removing the slim band that holds it and then methodically beginning to untwist the strands. "I owe you a great deal, Prosecutor Gavin."

" _Klavier._ " Utter certainty overlays a deep well of grief. "Please, for now... call me Klavier."

"All right." Athena finishes untwisting the fine blond strands of Klavier's hair, and runs a hand over it experimentally, as Robin had done. "I owe you a lot, Klavier."

Just as he had before, Klavier relaxes into the touch, his eyes closing, his breathing becoming easier. "You don't owe me anything, _fraulein_."

"Don't I?" Athena smiles, glad to hear some of the pain and confusion fading from Klavier's voice. "If you hadn't hurried to check on Apollo, it could very well be me sitting there with a crescent-moon scar on my arm."

"He was in the men's bathroom." Klavier's body leans steadily closer to her, until he is pressed up tight against her side, his eyes closed to slits. "It made... sense for me to go check on him."

"I'm not sure most people would say it makes sense to go help the guy who's trying to prove your suspect innocent, not when you could instead head for the crime scene and start—"

Klavier tenses under her hand, his eyes flying open.

"No, no, it's all right." Athena strokes her hand over the prosecutor's hair again. Though Hugh had said sensory overload was one of the main problems prior to a werewolf changing, she doesn't think that's the one Klavier's having the most trouble with, not given how eager he clearly is to be touched and talked to. "Prosecutor Edgeworth's taking care of the prosecution's side of the case, and I'll be going out to take care of the defense's portion. Don't worry. We'll see justice done."

"Justice." Klavier's sigh as he relaxes back against her side is a soul-deep exhalation of exhaustion and frustration. "That's all I want. All I've ever wanted. To see justice done. To see Justice safe."

"We'll get to the truth. I promise, Klavier." Athena settles her arm carefully across the prosecutor's back, allowing his head to settle more comfortably against her shoulder. "And you and Apollo are going to be just fine."

"Fine." Klavier's voice shakes, and she thinks he is smiling, but there is no mirth or amusement in his words. "He uses that word, and everyone else starts to, as well. Fine. Your mentor is a killer? Fine. Your brother is a murderer? Fine. Your brother is a _monster_? Fine. Your best friend is dead? Fine. Fine. _Fine_. He is bleeding and tired and hurt but _fine_."

Athena forces herself to draw a breath, to push aside all that she is hearing in Klavier's voice so that she can respond to his half-comprehensible litany of words, to the concern and sorrow underlying them. "Apollo... isn't the best at reaching out. But he's recovering. He's doing all right."

"I know. I saw. I..." Klavier raises his left hand to paw frantically at his head for a moment, pulling several long blond strands to hang loose in front of his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm not... making sense. It is just... so _verdammt_ hard to think right now, _fraulein_."

"I know." Grabbing Klavier's hand, Athena holds it tight. "It's all right. It's going to get better. You heard Robin, right? It's going to be tough, but just relax into it, and they'll help you figure out how to... to be all right as a werewolf. I mean, since _they_ all plan on going into the legal system, it shouldn't impact your work that much, right? So you'll be fine."

Klavier studies her for several seconds, drawing slow, deep breaths through his mouth. "Right. I will... be fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Athena continues to hold his hands, moving her thumbs in small, slow circles, hoping the contact is comforting. "About what's making it hard to think?"

"Everything." Klavier closes his eyes again, humming quietly to himself for a few seconds. Athena just waits patiently, and eventually he fixes her with a fierce blue stare. "I am... hearing things. A great many things. And smelling. I think... most are real."

"Heightened senses." Athena nods. "Yeah, they said that would happen."

"But there are also..." Klavier shivers, his body pressing against her side. "There are... ideas? Suggestions. Thoughts that are not... right." He blinks at her, and a small, self-conscious smile touches his mouth as he pulls away from her again. "Like... this. I would not normally be so forward... without being asked. I am sorry, Athena."

"Don't be." Athena gives his hands a little squeeze. "I'm guessing there's a whole set of instincts and needs that go along with being a werewolf, and you're getting them all dumped on your head unexpectedly. But if I had a problem with you being close, I would have told you. I don't let just anyone invade my personal space, you know. But you're a friend of Apollo's, and that makes you a friend of mine."

"He..." Klavier's accent thickens, and he stumbles over a handful of syllables that don't form words in any language she knows.

"Deep breaths." Athena frees one of her hands so that she can reach up and stroke his hair. "Slow and careful."

"Did Apollo... say that?" Hope slicks all of Klavier's words, a shimmering, bubbling sheen. "He said... I am his friend?"

"You're his friend." Athena wraps her arm around Klavier again, her throat tight. "And that means you're my friend, and Trucy's friend, and Mr. Wright's friend."

Klavier's body tenses, again, a shudder running up and down his form. "You don't... know, do you? They... haven't told you?"

Athena blinks. "Told me what?"

"About what I did. How I am responsible for the Dark Age of the Law." Shame is a rusting grate against each syllable, louder even than his accent, and he pulls away from her, burying his face in his hands. "Except I am _not_ , not _just_ me, but it _hurts_ and—"

Athena can hear the rising notes of terror even above the panting agony, and she hastily grabs Klavier again, pulling him back into an embrace. "You're not. I know you're not. There were a _lot_ of things that went into the mess, but it's _not_ any one person's fault. Not yours or Mr. Wright's or Simon's or mine. Right?"

" _Ja_. Yes. Right." Klavier shudders, hands falling away from his face, and buries his head against her shoulder, drawing deep breaths. "I _know_ that. I... went through a very bad time, after... last year. But I am _fine_."

"Except... you're not?" Athena strokes a hand over his hair.

"I don't want to die. Not for well over eight months now. I am happy with how my life is going." Klavier nuzzles deeper into her neck. "But... since the bite..."

"I... imagine your brain chemistry's going through an awful lot of changes really fast. And if depression or trauma built some bad pathways in, I'm guessing those might get triggered as a whole lot of new pathways get put down." Athena stops petting Klavier's hair, not wanting to distract him for a few seconds. "But you'll get it under control."

Klavier gives a soft, lost laugh. "I feel as though my joints are on fire. My head is _aching_ as though someone is beating a bass drum in each temple. Sometimes I want to kill myself. And I am a _werwolf_. But I will be fine."

"You _will_ be." Athena gathers Klavier's hands in hers again, squeezing them hard, willing him to believe her. "You just need to make it through the night. You've got all of us here for you. You _will_ be fine."

"Fine. _Gut_. Fine." Klavier repeats the words as though they were a mantra, varying them in tone and cadence so that they form a little sing-song. "Apollo survived, without knowing what is happening. So I will have to be fine."

"Can't let him beat you that easily, right?" Athena grins, recognizing the need for confirmation in Klavier's words, wishing there was more she could do to help. "You're just going to rest here, where there won't be lots of noise or light, and then this evening you'll run around like a crazy wolf with Apollo, and then we'll just go on with our lives. We'll all be fine."

"We'll be fine." Gratitude turns the tone of the words up slightly, and Klavier gives her hands a squeeze in return. "Help me... out of my jacket? And take my shirt somewhere I can't smell the blood. It's... a very confusing smell, right now."

Athena decides pretty quickly that she doesn't want to know what's confusing about the smell. "Come on, stand up for a second and we'll get you changed."

Mr. Wright returns while she's still trying to unbutton Klavier's shirt, Klavier's fumbling fingers not quite up to the task.

Mr. Wright holds out a polo shirt, slightly thread-bare, in a dark magenta color. "One of Prosecutor Edgeworth's, for those few times he decides to do something requiring less formal clothing. It might be a little big on you, but it should fit."

"Thank you." Klavier keeps his head down, again, his eyes averted from Mr. Wright, but it really is gratitude in his words.

Athena lets Mr. Wright finish helping Klavier dress, and they leave him curled on the bed, an old stuffed dog toy of Trucy's clasped tight in his arms. Klavier's head moves, a slight but obvious rhythm, from the toy to his sleeve and back to the toy.

Scent is one of the most powerful memory triggers.

Athena desperately hopes, as they close the door behind them with a promise to come check on Klavier shortly, that the memories being conjured are strong enough to fight off the demons they will find.


	6. Chapter Five: Explanations

_Chapter Five: Explanations_

"—and so we left them at your house, and I came here to meet you."

Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth stands in front of Ema, his arms crossed in front of his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. Only the fact that his index finger is tapping out a steady rhythm on his arm clues Ema in to the fact that he's not quite as calm as he's trying to appear. "And you're certain Justice wasn't with them?"

"No Apollo Justice in sight. Believe me, it's hard to miss that guy." Ema hugs her own arms to her chest, though she suspects it looks less cool and controlled and more anxious than Edgeworth's stance. "Which is weird, because Apollo should have been with them. He was at the courthouse with everyone this morning, though..."

Edgeworth's eyebrows both rise. "Though?"

"He was... weird. Fidgety. No focus. Not his usual collected self." Ema shrugs. "I wasn't there for the end of the trial, I was taking care of some calls to forensics, but apparently he got really sick and had to leave just before Cykes proved there was another way into the apartment."

The apartment whose building they are currently standing in front of, but Edgeworth has made it clear that he already has forensics working inside and he wants her to tell him everything she knows about Wright and company's status before they pick up the investigation again.

"The dog."

Ema stares up at Edgeworth. "What about it?"

"Describe the dog." Edgeworth's frown deepens, the furrows in his brow becoming more pronounced. "Wright doesn't have a dog, so far as I know."

"Well, he definitely does now. Trucy was all over it. A big thing, too—the head came up to here, at least." Ema holds her hand level with her stomach. "He was pretty well-behaved, though. Just followed along at Trucy's side, though he watched everything really closely."

Edgeworth's eyes narrow. "Describe the dog's hair and eye color."

"Uh... okay." Ema studies her boss, trying to decide where he's going with this. "Eye color was dark brown. Pretty pure brown, too—really similar to Apollo's eye color, actually. Fur was also a medium dark brown, not really anything to catch the eye there. Oh, except Trucy must've styled his fur, because he had two little spikes between his ears. Also kind of... like... Justice..."

Ema trails off, several very silly theories suddenly floating through her mind.

Silly theories that aren't dismissed by the way Edgeworth tenses, his gaze attempting to bore through the concrete of the city to where Phoenix Wright is currently standing. "Wright, you can't possibly have managed... no, actually, given who it is... _damn_ it." Edgeworth shakes his head. "And you said that Gavin was acting... off?"

"He was acting like he was... sick. Or drugged. He was slow to respond to anything, trying to avoid conversation, and just... not himself." Ema finds herself waving a hand, frustrated by her inability to pin down exactly what had been wrong with Klavier. "But he was _fine_ this morning, I talked to him before the trial, he was doing a fantastic job _during_ the trial..."

Edgeworth's hands clench tight against his arms. "Did you notice anything that looked like an injury on Gavin? Even if it seems strange, a scar you don't remember him having, I want you to tell me about it."

Wracking her memory supplies nothing useful, and Ema shakes her head in regret. "No dice. Sorry."

"That's all right." Edgeworth would probably be pacing right now, Ema decides, if they were somewhere that others wouldn't be able to _see_ him pacing.

"You've got an idea what's going on?" Ema makes it a question, though from his reactions she's fairly certain she knows the answer.

"I've some... theories." Edgeworth studies her for a long moment. "Theories I'm not at liberty to discuss, unfortunately, because some of the information is classified, and not something I can share without proper authorization. As soon as I have more information, though, or anything useful, I promise that I'll pass that information on to you."

Ema grits her teeth, keeping any demands to be filled in locked inside her head. She knows that keeping secrets is sometimes a part of Edgeworth's job, though she's very sensitive to it, especially after the Phantom case. "If your theory is right... is Prosecutor Gavin going to be all right?"

"If my theory is right..." Edgeworth stares up at the sun, which has just begun creeping down the western sky. "Trucy Wright, Phoenix Wright, Athena Cykes, Juniper Woods, Robin Newman, and Hugh O'Conner were all there?"

Ema nods, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together on her own in a way that makes sense and failing utterly.

Edgeworth draws a deep breath. "Prosecutor Gavin's a strong man, and he's among friends. I have every faith that both he and Mr. Justice will be back to work in a day or two."

Relief surges through Ema—relief she is _not_ going to tell the glimmerous fop about, ever. "I'm glad to hear you think so."

A small smile plays across Edgeworth's mouth, and he drops his arms to his side. "Right now I only have speculation, Ema, but as soon as I've received confirmation of my speculation and permission to share certain details, I'll tell you everything. I promise."

"Right." Ema forces a smile of her own. "What do we do now?"

"I'm going to go make a few quick phone calls." Edgeworth pulls his cell phone from his pocket. "While I do that, you're going to go help direct the investigation. I will be upstairs in a few minutes, you'll fill me in on any details of the case not to be found in Gavin's notes or the transcript from this morning, and we will see that justice is done. Acceptable?"

Ema nods, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Very acceptable."

Taking the stairs up to the apartment shared by both the victim and the killer, Ema hopes that Edgeworth is right in his assessment.

She also hopes he gets permission to tell her his theories soon, because hers just keep getting stranger and more illogical as desperation sets in, and that's just unscientific and sad.

XXX

Apollo settles down in one of the reclining chairs in Prosecutor Edgeworth's living room, staring across at Juniper, Robin, and Hugh where they have sprawled in a group on the couch.

Trucy perches on the arm of Apollo's chair, her hand on his shoulder. She has reclaimed her cape, restraining herself to a single sniff and dismissive cry of _wet dog_ before donning it again. Apollo himself is in an old sweatsuit of Phoenix Wright's. He has had to roll up the sleeves of the shirt and the legs of the pants, but the clothes stay on, they're comfortable, and they'll be easy to wiggle out of if he starts going fuzzy again unexpectedly.

(They smell like Phoenix, a deeply ingrained scent, and Apollo finds himself drawing deep breaths, using the scent to steady himself more than he would ever admit to anyone.)

"So." Apollo stares at Juniper. "You bit me. And now I'm a werewolf."

Juniper bites down on her bottom lip, sitting up straight and proper on the edge of the couch. "Yes. I'm sorry."

Apollo's eyes narrow, and he forces himself to draw deep breaths, to keep his anger in check. Leaping across the living room and biting Juniper wouldn't help anything and would probably be counter-productive to figuring out what he's going to do now. She _is_ offering to tell him about what's going on, after all. That makes her better than his boss often is. "You didn't think to tell me that I am a werewolf before I actually..." He feels silly, saying it out loud, but Juniper continues to stare at him despite the hand-wave that he had hoped to use to fill in the word. "...Changed?"

"I didn't know." Juniper's head ducks for a moment, and Apollo draws a deep breath, his fingers curling deep into the arms of the couch as _something_ inside his head tells him that is a shrug, though it looks _nothing_ like a shrug.

A flicker of movement to his left, on the arm of the chair opposite the one Trucy is sitting on, a brush of cold air against his arm, and Apollo knows where Clay is again. "You didn't know that you'd made me into a werewolf."

"No." Another, deeper, more ashamed duck of her head, and Juniper is studying her hands intently. "I was trying very hard not to Change while the courtroom was exploding. Changing in front of others is against the rules, you see, but if we're hurt or stressed, the wolf tends to want to come out."

"And having a building fall down on our heads was both painful and stressful." Apollo forces his hands to relax. "So... all it takes is biting someone while the wolf's coming out to make them into a werewolf?"

"Even easier than that." Juniper picks at a spot on her skirt. "Any time we draw blood from a human with our mouths—it doesn't matter if it's in human form, wolf form, or an in-between form—they become a made wolf. They get a scar and they start Changing like we do with the moon."

Apollo's left hand rises, presses against where he found the scar. Just a little half-moon crescent of tissue beneath his left collarbone, and he hadn't even _noticed_ it until he knew to go looking for it. He acquired too many other, nastier scars that day. "You keep saying made wolf."

"You're a made wolf. Klavier, too. You were bitten and Changed. That's what Robin and Hugh are, too." Juniper points at herself, and her back straightens, her tone becoming more confident. "I'm a born wolf. I've always had my abilities, because my mother has them, too."

"Your mom's a werewolf, too?" Athena asks the question, she and Phoenix emerging from the hallway where most of the guest bedrooms are located. "I never knew that!"

"Of course you didn't. You weren't supposed to." Juniper looks exasperated. "It's supposed to be _secret_. My dad's also a werewolf—a born wolf—but that's not as important. As long as the mother's a werewolf, the children will be born wolves, too."

"Of course." Apollo looks from Phoenix and Athena to Trucy, who is listening in clear avid fascination. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Apollo..." Phoenix trails off, clearly reconsidering whatever he had been planning on telling Apollo.

Which is likely good, because if he told Apollo to calm down and be nice, Apollo might just bite him. And Apollo really has no desire to turn his boss into a werewolf.

Instead Phoenix rakes his eyes across the room. "I know this is a very important conversation, but do you mind if I interrupt it for a minute? We need to figure out what we're doing with the case."

"The case!" Apollo jumps to his feet, dismay filling him as he turns to the door. "We need to go investigate. We need—"

Trucy's hand tugs him back down into the seat abruptly, and a cold chill runs over his left side, as well, telling Apollo that he slipped closer to the wolf again. Trucy waves a finger in his face. " _No_."

Apollo doesn't look at the finger, trusting himself not to bite Trucy but not wanting the temptation anyway. "But—"

"You need to get this sorted out, Apollo." Athena's left hand is toying with her earring. "And I think you need to be here for Klavier. He's—well, all the bad stuff he went through last year? It's all getting stirred up along with all the werewolf instincts, and... and it's probably best if you're here to help him."

Apollo swallows, body staying very still. He is peripherally aware of how rough Klavier had it for a few months after the Misham trial, from gossip and a few surprising heart-to-hearts following trials and at parties they had both been invited to thanks to their bosses, and from what he knows it is not a time period the prosecutor is going to be eager to revisit.

Trucy draws a short, sharp breath next to him, her right hand fiddling with the clasp of her cape, her left clasped tight to Apollo. "He's... okay, though? Klavier's okay?"

"He knows what's happening, and he knows some of what he's feeling isn't... isn't right." Athena's breath shudders, and Apollo can abruptly smell how worried she is—can smell Klavier's scent, sticking to her, heavy with pain and fear.

Fingers flick him in the forehead, and Clay's voice sounds in his ear. " _Human_ , idiot."

It almost has the opposite effect. Apollo jumps, a barbed combination of surprise and joy rising to choke his throat, and he can feel his skin... _ripple_ , his joints burn with the fire of impending transformation.

Juniper is staring at him, though she swiftly averts her gaze—not down, but to the side, not challenging him. "Remember your human form, Apollo. Remember how it feels and try to hold on to it."

Trucy's hand strokes his shoulder.

And with an effort of will Apollo rides out the tingling, burning feeling, keeping his human skin, though there are now gouge marks in the arms of the chair where his fingernails bit into the fabric with inhuman sharpness.

Everyone is staring at him.

Robin gives him a thumb's up.

Hugh gives a minute shake of his head, clearly not impressed.

Phoenix raises his eyebrows in silent query.

And Athena studies him, an apologetic look on her face.

"Right." Apollo licks his lips. "So I should stay here, for Klavier's sake. It was your case anyway, Athena. I was just co-counsel."

"Though if you'd feel more comfortable staying here, Athena..." Phoenix gesture with his head, managing to include the whole room in the motion. "I could take care of the case."

"No. I started the investigation, and I'm confident I can get to the truth." Athena gives Trucy a hesitant smile. "Though if Trucy wouldn't mind coming along with me and helping me with the investigation... it's always nice to have another set of eyes and another mind to bounce ideas off of."

Trucy looks between Athena and Apollo, and her hand tightens on his shoulder.

"Go with her." Apollo nods toward Athena. "I'm sure you'll get plenty of time to enjoy me as a werewolf, but we only get one chance to get justice for our clients. I'd really appreciate you helping Athena out."

Trucy bites down on her thumb for a moment. "You'll be okay without me?"

"I promise I'll be just fine until you get back." Apollo grins up at the young woman. "I'll be safe and out of trouble. You stay the same way, right?"

Trucy returns his grin, though she also throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tight. "I'll try to stay out of trouble, but justice is a dangerous game, you know."

Apollo pats Trucy's back. "Especially when we're involved. Now go on. Show me why you're the best legal partner anyone could ask for."

"You got it." Trucy crosses to Athena's side, grabbing Athena's hand and pulling her toward the door. She almost moves fast enough for Apollo to miss the frustrated sheen of tears over her eyes. "Come on, Athena. I know where the closest bus stop is—also how to call a taxi, if we need to. Let's get this case solved so we can get back before Polly's a wolf again."

"Sounds like a plan." Athena allows Trucy to pull her along, though she turns so that she's facing them, walking backwards. "If you need me or Trucy, for anything, just call. And we'll be back as soon as work's done."

Then they're gone, the heavy wooden door closing behind them with a thud.

Phoenix follows them out into the foyer, and Apollo listens to the beeps that indicate the security system being reset. Were they always that loud and obvious? No, he doesn't think so, but Apollo can see the three Themis students also listening to the sounds.

When Phoenix returns, he comes to stand quietly at Apollo's side, facing Juniper, Robin, and Hugh, his hands in his pockets.

Apollo doesn't mean to move. His hand just does, of its own accord, snatching at Mr. Wright's suit jacket and holding on tight.

Phoenix's hand rises slowly, comes to rest on Apollo's shoulder where Trucy's had been, and Apollo finds himself letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Donning his cross-examination expression, Phoenix fixes Juniper with a fierce stare. "So. Let's continue the explanations."

"Right." Juniper's gaze turns to Apollo again, though she once more avoids making direct eye contact. "Where would you like me to start?"

Apollo huffs out a breath that is half-laugh, half-growl. Saying _with everything_ probably won't help move the conversation forward, though, so he starts with the most important question. "Is there a way to undo it?"

Juniper shakes her head, neck bowed, and Apollo's wolf adds in laid-back ears, a curled tail, completing the look of abject misery. "No. Once someone's been Changed, they can't go back to being human. That's why we try to be very careful about who gets turned."

"Okay. That's not good." Apollo draws a long, slow breath through his nose. "Especially because between that and how easy it is to make someone a werewolf, I imagine we'd be drowning in werewolves if there weren't rules against it."

"Well..." Robin wriggles in place, glancing anxiously at Juniper. "Most people wouldn't want to turn others against their will. And not everyone will survive the transformation."

Hugh takes his glasses off, fiddling with the ear pieces rather than meeting Apollo's eyes. "Especially because the times we're most likely to bite without meaning to or without thinking are around the full moon. The closer to the full moon someone is when they Change the first time, the more likely they'll reject the transformation."

"Trucy filled me in on that." Apollo's fingers clench tight again. "That someone could die."

"Or lose themselves. Especially if they don't understand what's happening and are fighting the whole time." Juniper's hands are also curled into claws. "So the likelihood of there being a werewolf plague is pretty small."

"And there's nothing you could do to try to..." Apollo licks his lips, keeping the words _help Klavier_ and _help me_ locked inside his head. "To slow or post-pone a transformation once it's started?"

"No." Hugh and Robin answer in unison, Robin with a hint of sorrow in her voice, Hugh with blunt certainty.

"...Yes." Juniper sighs as both her wolves turn to look at her, incredulity on their faces. "There are things that can slow the _physical_ transformation, or halt it completely. There's an infusion that can be made with wolfsbane, and injections of silver or piercing the body in several places with anything coated in silver nitrate. But they slow or halt the physical transformation by making your body literally too ill to transform, and they don't do anything about the mental transformations. If it's done to someone during their first Change, and it doesn't kill them, it invariably... breaks them."

Hugh studies Juniper with eyes that have taken on the bright shine of the wolf. "We were told it can't be done, stopping the transformation."

"For all intents and purposes that's true." Juniper bites down hard on her lip. "Any of the techniques we know about, they're considered a last-ditch resort if someone is in a location where they _can't_ be allowed to change, or as a... as a method of torture."

"Junie..." Robin's shoulders are hunched, her arms locked around her knees. "We're not supposed to be keeping secrets from each other anymore."

"How _did_ you manage to keep secrets from each other?" Phoenix's right hand rubs at his chin, his other hand still resting on Apollo's shoulder.

Everyone in the room is staring at him, and Apollo forces himself to blink and turn his attention back to Juniper. He had almost forgotten that Phoenix was standing there, too wrapped up in the wolves sitting across from him.

Phoenix's question seems to have deflated some of the rising tension in the room, and Juniper shrugs as she answers, a much more human motion. "What you smell with your nose tells you nothing about someone's age and only some things about their gender. Plus a secret we learned via our bond wasn't one that Hugh or I would be willing to tell to everyone else."

"I suppose that makes sense." Phoenix pats Apollo on the shoulder. "Though probably no secrets is still the better option."

"I don't _like_ keeping secrets from my friends. But there are things we're just _not supposed to tell_ to people who aren't part of a pack." Juniper glances at her pack-mates, head lowering in misery again. "And things that only born-wolves are supposed to know."

"Wonderful." Apollo grits his teeth. "I'm not going to accept that, you know. Anything that can help me figure out what's going on and what it's going to mean for me, I want to know."

"I understand." A small, sad smile flits across Juniper's face. "Which is why I'm telling you everything I know, as truthfully as I can."

"Right. Good." Apollo draws a deep breath. "So I'm going to transform for three nights out of every lunar cycle. Whether I want to or not."

"It's really not that bad!" Robin ducks her head when Juniper reaches over and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry. But it's not. It's a lot of fun. And the sooner he stops freaking out about it, the easier it'll be."

"I'll stop freaking out about being a werewolf on my own schedule, thank you!" Apollo draws another deep breath. Calm. Human. Calm. "I'm sure it was a lot of fun when you _chose it_ , but I didn't."

Juniper nods. "I understand, Apollo. You've every right to be upset and angry."

Somehow Juniper handling his anger so well makes Apollo feel bad about it. Which doesn't actually help him rein it in, and he finds himself fidgeting awkwardly in his chair, wishing that he could pace. Having everyone watch him pace would just be embarrassing, though—would somehow feel like a failing, when the other three werewolves are managing to sit so calmly. "So I change when the moon rises, and go back to human when the sun rises?"

"Our wolves are creatures of the moon; humans are always creatures of the sun." Juniper pulls her flower forward, burying her nose in it and sniffing—the first time Apollo has seen her do that since they started talking. "Well... most humans. There are some who straddle the border, like we do."

Hugh slips his glasses back on. "And by moon and sun Juniper means a bit more than the celestial bodies."

Robin perks up, grinning again. "Are you familiar with the tarot?"

"Tarot?" Apollo blinks, feeling slow and unprepared. Not that one could really prepare for being an unexpected werewolf. "What, you mean the fortune-telling cards?"

Robin winces; Hugh rolls his eyes.

"Yes." Juniper smiles encouragingly at him, leaving Apollo completely confused as to whether his response was actually right or not. "The fortune-telling cards."

Robin is practically bouncing in place now, making Apollo feel better about his own restless energy. "The moon is imagination! Illusion! Fantasy. All the things that hide in the dark, that people are currently trying to shield their eyes from, that's the moon."

"Also some less flattering things." Hugh crosses one leg over the other, and his fingers are curled into claws now, too, digging into the fabric of his pants. "Inner demons. Anxieties. The shadow self. Those all fall under the purview of the Moon, as well."

Juniper's hand lands lightly on Hugh's leg, strokes down it once, twice, and Hugh's hands slowly relax. "Our Lady is the ruler of the dark, but She is a caster of light into that darkness. And that is what we are made from, the sparks of light and life and magic in the night."

Phoenix's hand tightens on Apollo's shoulder. "Whereas us little humans are... what, exactly?"

"The opposite of the moon, of course." Hugh's voice drips derision.

"Creatures of the sun!" Robin's grin is wide and welcoming. "Creatures of logic and science and clear delineations of light and shadow. Confident of everything they know, even if what they know doesn't actually explain everything. Because you need both the moon and the sun to have a proper world."

"And... that's what we are?" Apollo looks down at his hands, the explanation somehow feeling... _right_ , even though it _should_ sound utterly ludicrous.

Juniper nods. "That's what we are. A little... simplified, there are a few other forces besides the Moon and the Sun out there, but it gives you the general idea."

"Well." Apollo forces a smile. "Guess that means no bringing Detective Skye into the fold. She's entirely a creature of logic and science, which I suspect falls more under the sun than the moon."

"For most people it would." Juniper shrugs. "It depends on how the individual person relates science to the rest of the world. Some scientists can actually be really imaginative, and spend more time with the moon than you'd think. But you really shouldn't tell anyone about what we are unless you're pretty certain they'd accept being Changed or you get permission from the local packs."

"I wasn't planning on just going up to Ema and being all _hey I'm werewolf, would you like to be one too_." Apollo huffs out a frustrated half-growl. "Though I take it there's a... werewolf legal system that would get upset with me if I did?"

"Um." Robin scrunches her face up as though she's bitten into something sour. "For... some definitions of legal system?"

"Mostly the packs let the human legal system deal with everything not pack-related." Juniper puts a hand on each of her wolves. "But for the few laws we have—laws about who gets to know what, pack size, that sort of thing—all the alphas in a region will enforce them, together."

"There's thirteen alphas in the city, including Juniper." Hugh's head lowers to rest against Juniper's shoulder. "With pack sizes ranging from three—ours, at the lowest end allowed—to fourteen."

"That's really abnormal, though." Juniper shakes her head. "I don't know how she does it."

"And... I'm part of your pack now?" Apollo rolls his head on his neck, not certain that's right, his fingers and back and basically whole body starting to feel itchy and too _small_.

"Not... quite." Juniper meets his eyes, for the briefest moment.

Apollo's lips pull back from his teeth, and he attempts to surge to his feet, Phoenix's hand throwing him off-balance and causing him to stumble.

Juniper quickly flicks her eyes to the side. "You're an incredibly dominant wolf, Apollo. Which... isn't something that made wolves are supposed to be. We might be able to be in the same pack, but only if your wolf and mine fought and figured out who's the alpha. And I... don't think I would win that fight."

"No!" Robin snarls, the young woman suddenly standing between Apollo and Juniper, a growl rumbling low in her throat. "Junie's our alpha. We chose her!"

Hugh has also come to his feet, studying Apollo with a fierce frown. "You can't—"

" _Stop_." Juniper shoves her wolves aside, standing in front of them and staring until they both slink back down onto the couch. "Apollo and I aren't going to fight right now, and we're going to discuss who's alpha and what it means for everyone if it comes to that."

"It won't." Apollo speaks in a flat, certain voice. "I'm not going to steal your position. Robin and Hugh chose you as their alpha. I'll... make do with a different pack."

"You'll almost certainly have to make your own pack, if you don't want to displace an alpha or severely disrupt a pack." Juniper settles down on the couch between Robin and Hugh again.

"That's fine. I can do that." Apollo has no idea what that will entail, but it will undoubtedly be better than getting into some kind of dominance contest with Juniper. "What about Klavier?"

Hugh shakes his head. "You've seen him. He's submissive."

Robin makes a considering sound. "To Apollo, at least. And to Mr. Wright, weirdly. But he hasn't been submissive to any of us."

"It's too early to tell." Juniper holds her hands open, palms up. "We won't have a good sense of what his wolf will be like until he's more... settled."

"And what's it mean?" Apollo can't stay still anymore, too much tension and nervousness built up. He tries to keep his pacing to a slow walk, though he feels as though he could run for miles without tiring right now. "Being dominant and being submissive?"

"It's where you fit into the pack. The pack is..." Juniper's eyes rise, towards where the moon will hang in a few hours, full and white and beautiful. "It's everything. It's family and friends and safety. And everyone has a place in their pack. The alpha takes care of the pack—keeps the pack members safe. That's what everyone does, really—protect those beneath them in the hierarchy."

"Though being submissive doesn't mean you're a doormat." Hugh glares at Apollo, though Apollo has done nothing to suggest it does. "It just means that you're someone who's all right with taking orders. That you don't have to be in control."

 _Definitely not you, then._ The cold words are a whisper against his ear, Clay's voice quietly entertained. _You could probably write a book on how to have adorable control issues right now_.

"Shut up, Clay." Apollo mumbles out the words, finding that his pacing has increased in speed despite his best efforts. "Right. So I'm dominant, and I'm likely going to end up alpha of a pack. And immediately in trouble with all the other alphas because I shouldn't exist."

"That's my fault." Juniper raises her chin. "I'm taking full responsibility for it. I won't let anyone hurt you because of it. I'll take responsibility for Klavier, too."

"How would you explain that?" Apollo shakes his head. "I bit Klavier; I'll take responsibility for him. Besides, the true story is the easiest to defend—we both acted in extreme situations, and we'll both make sure it doesn't happen again."

"And you've got some pretty decent defense attorneys who will be happy to argue for you, if it would be helpful at all." Phoenix is leaning against the wall now.

"I don't know if it would be." Juniper shrugs. "But I'm grateful for the offer. I'll make sure to keep it in mind. Though it shouldn't be a problem until the day after tomorrow, at the earliest."

Apollo nods. "Because everyone else will be busy with the full moon?"

Juniper shakes her head. "Because I'm not going to tell anyone what's happened until then. We all function just fine around the full moon."

Apollo can _smell_ Phoenix's skepticism, a sharp scent of disbelief and hesitance.

"We do." Robin offers Apollo a hesitant smile. "There's meditation and exercise routines you can use to help with the moon-drunk aspects, and you'll be able to go about your life basically as usual as long as the moon isn't up."

Hugh nods. "Every full moon you go through, you get a little bit better at controlling all that energy."

"And it helps, having a pack." Juniper toys with the flower in her hair, though she doesn't sniff it this time. "It gives somewhere else for the energy to go."

"Okay." Apollo tries to stand still, and finds that as soon as he turns attention to anything else his feet begin moving again. "Have to get a pack, then. Soon."

Definitely soon, because he _needs_ a pack. Now that he has seen it, now that he has tasted what it could be, he _wants_ it. He wants to pad down the hall and throw open the door to Klavier's room and decide where the blond wolf is going to go and once Klavier has chosen Apollo's pack then the two of them can decide what to do about Juniper's pack and—

"Apollo." Phoenix's hand grabs his arm, holds him in place.

Apollo tamps down a snarl, drawing deep breaths and reminding himself who this is. Boss. Friend. Hero.

Juniper stands. "That's probably enough for now. It'll be easier to teach you some of the meditation and focusing techniques when you're not so worked up."

Apollo frowns at her. "What's _that_ mean?"

Hugh stands just behind his alpha. "It means we're going to get rid of some of that excess energy for you, Justice."

"So!" Robin claps her hands. "Would you rather transform or just run around in circles in human form?"

In human form he can think more clearly.

In wolf form he can see Clay.

"You're sure..." Apollo swallows. "If I transform, I'll be able to get back to my human shape?"

Juniper smiles at him. "It's just you, Apollo. Wolf or human, it's always you. So long as you _want_ to come back to human, so long as you aren't forgetting who you are, you can always come back."

"Then... if you don't mind..." Apollo glances at Mr. Wright, too, waiting for him to give the go-ahead before continuing. "I want to try transforming again, and talking to Clay."


	7. Chapter Six: The Setting Sun

**Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter is up a little late. This has been a really awful day. I'll respond to reviews, which I still really deeply appreciate, tomorrow or the next day. Right now I'm going to go slink off and pretend kittens are immortal and intentions can actually change outcomes.

 _Chapter Six: The Setting Sun_

Phoenix edges open the door to Klavier's room, trying to make as little noise as possible.

He's actually fairly good at managing it, with this room. He's had enough practice checking on Trucy—making sure that she's sleeping, making sure that she's not wandering the house, making sure that she's sleeping _soundly_ , without nightmares—that he knows where most of the squeaky patches are and how to avoid them.

The prosecutor is curled up in the center of the bed, wearing only the polo that Phoenix had provided and his black pants. A small collection of jewelry sits on the wardrobe across the room from the bed, and Phoenix finds himself studying the Klavier in the mirror on the wardrobe door instead of the Klavier lying prone on the bed.

 _He's the age I was when the DeKiller case happened._

The thought is disconcerting, and Phoenix tries to shake it from his head. It's the lack of socks, Phoenix thinks. Anyone not wearing socks and in borrowed clothes looks young and vulnerable.

 _Well, that and the fact that you know he might be dying and there's nothing you can do about it._

Right. Thanks, brain, really not helpful.

Phoenix moves further into the room, feeling like he's intruding, still trying to walk as quietly as possible. When he's two feet from the bed, Phoenix can see that Klavier's eyes are slitted open, slashes of bright blue above the faded brown dog toy that his nose is buried against. Phoenix isn't sure exactly how _aware_ Klavier is, though, his eyes staying fixed on the blank wall, small muscles in his shoulders and arms twitching noticeably. After a moment Phoenix decides to try speaking, in as quiet a voice as he can manage. "Klavier?"

Klavier makes a noise low in his throat, a guttural sound that Phoenix eventually figures out is probably a combination of _ja_ and _yes_.

Asking Klavier if he's all right would probably be considered cruel at this point, so Phoenix restrains the impulse. "Anything you need? Water? Food?"

Klavier pales beneath his golden complexion, his lips ghost-white when he finally pulls the toy away from his face. " _Nein_. Though I... th-thank you."

"Just a few more hours." Phoenix glances at the window, where the sun remains stubbornly high in the sky. Or should he be grateful that it's still up? Is more time better or worse right now?

"I know. I'm f-fine." A shiver runs the length of Klavier's lanky frame.

Phoenix eyes the mussed throw at the end of the bed. "Would a blanket be better or worse?"

"Worse." Another shiver. "It... itches. Burns against my skin."

"Okay. No blanket. I can turn the thermostat up a bit, though, try to make it warmer in here." Phoenix forces a smile. When things seem darkest is when it's most important to smile and believe, after all. "Anything else?"

Another unintelligible word, and Phoenix takes a step closer to the bed. "I couldn't quite catch what that—"

"Painkillers." Klavier closes his eyes, some of the color returning to his face in the form of a blush. "Could I... did J-Juniper say..."

She did, actually. She said that most common anti-inflammatories were out, because they could be toxic to the wolf, and pushing Klavier's new-found healing factor more than the transformation already must be doing is a bad idea. Anything morphine or narcotic-based could likewise screw up the mental transformation—because shoving Klavier back into a head-space that had Miles in a quiet frenzy for weeks isn't already screwed up enough.

 _Klavier_ doesn't know any of that, though. "Hang on. I'll get you something."

Miles' medicine cabinet is meticulously organized—far better than Phoenix's own, with an equally well-stocked supply of children's medications—and Phoenix grabs two vitamin C tablets and a glass of water before heading back down to Klavier's room. Phoenix can't remember the name of the effect, but he's definitely heard that if someone _believes_ something will help them feel better, it often will. And since he's pretty certain you can't kill a person _or_ a wolf with vitamin C, this should be a safe bet to try.

"Here you go." Phoenix sets the glass of water on the small horse-themed table by the bed, leaning down to very gingerly help the prosecutor sit up. Pressing the two pills into Klavier's hand, he holds out the glass of water. "These should make you feel better."

Klavier swallows them dutifully, though his complexion turns a gray-white as he does. " _Danke_ , Herr Wright. Do you mind... can I... request something?"

"Of course."

Klavier draws a long, shallow breath. He doesn't meet Phoenix's eyes, his head tilted down, his shoulders hunched. "If I die—"

"You're not going to die."

Klavier cringes back, head tilting further, neck exposed, and Phoenix's hands clench into fists.

Why does Klavier act as though Phoenix is going to _hurt_ him? They've already _talked_ about this, come to a fragile truce, and Phoenix doesn't—

"I said _if_." Klavier's left hand rises, fingertips walking up and down his face, his eyes on the ground. His voice is a bare whisper. "Not _when_. I just—I w-want—I—"

"It's okay." Phoenix forces his own tone to be calm, quiet, soothing. "You're going to be fine. But if it would make you feel better to..."

"Three things." Klavier raises two fingers, then four, and then, with a frown of deep concentration, manages three. "First, if something happens... make sure Apollo's f-fine. Really fine. That he knows... it wasn't his f-fault."

Phoenix nods. He doesn't think that Apollo would blame himself, anyway—and he's certain that there won't _need_ to be any fault handed out. There's already more fault and guilt to go around their little group than they deserve.

"Second..." Klavier frowns at his hand, and eventually two fingers are showing. "Second... I don't... remember..."

"It's all right." Phoenix gestures back to the bed. "You can just relax for a little bit, and—"

"No! _Nein_. No." Klavier shakes his head, blond hair flying about his face, and claws at Phoenix's jacket.

Phoenix doesn't know how they end up on the floor, exactly, Klavier's hands in a vice-grip on Phoenix's vest, but he's bitterly certain he's the only thing keeping Klavier halfway vertical.

"Defend her. Juniper. Pack. Friend. I..." Klavier's head drops, and Phoenix worries for a moment that he's going to either pass out or do something they'll all regret like decide to bite Phoenix. Then Klavier straightens, blue eyes blazing bright as he meets Phoenix's gaze for the first time since Apollo bit him. "You'll defend them. Protect them. Apollo and Juniper and their pack."

"Nothing's going to happen to them." Phoenix moves his right hand, slowly pushing blond hair away from Klavier's face. "Not unless it's over my dead body."

"I believe you." Klavier sighs, body relaxing. He glances back at the bed, and Phoenix doesn't need any help understanding the dismayed look on the prosecutor's face.

"Come on, back you go." Phoenix can feel muscles twitching and bunching under Klavier's skin in ways that feel decidedly unnatural as he helps haul the man back onto the bed. "That was two requests. What's number three?"

"Three?" Klavier frowns, gathering Trucy's stuffed toy back into his arms. "Oh, _drei_. If he would be w-willing... I would like the Chief Prosecutor to give my eulogy."

"You're not going to die. You're eight years younger than him and you're going to outlive him by at least that." Phoenix rubs at the back of his neck. "But if, hypothetically, Prosecutor Edgeworth were at your funeral... I know he'd be honored to give the eulogy."

" _Gut_. Good." Klavier closes his eyes, his body curling up again, as it had been when Phoenix first entered the room. "Thank you, Herr Wright."

"You're welcome." Phoenix pats awkwardly at Klavier's shoulder. "Just... rest. The painkillers will kick in soon, and you'll feel better. We'll be in to check on you every couple minutes, all right? And if you need us when we're not here, just shout."

Klavier's head moves, a tiny nod.

Phoenix studies him a moment more, feeling utterly out of his depth and helpless, and then heads for the door.

"Herr Wright..." Klavier's voice is a bare whisper. "I know... they were just vitamins. _Danke_ , for that, too."

Phoenix doesn't know what to say, so he just nods, closing the door as quietly as he can behind him, hoping that Apollo's wolf training is going better than this.

XXX

Apollo sits in front of his pile of borrowed clothes, facing the wall rather than Juniper and her clearly-comfortable-being-naked friends.

His bracelet is still on his wrist, the last article of clothing to be removed before he allows the tingling in his blood to override all sensibility and turn him into a _wolf_.

Before he gets to see _Clay_ , and he yanks the bracelet off in one smooth motion, setting it carefully atop Mr. Wright's sweat shirt. "So now that I'm, uh... undressed, what do I do?"

"Just let the wolf come forward. It's easy, at this time of month." Juniper's voice is soft, an almost dreamy quality to it.

Apollo swallows, eyes fixed firmly on the wall in front of him. "And I'll still... be me?"

"The wolf's all you!" Robin's declaration is certainly said at a volume that indicates she thinks it's true.

"The wolf is... different, in some ways. Has different senses, a different idea of memory and time." Juniper's voice is closer, now, though not so close that Apollo feels the need to turn and confront her. Just close enough that he can feel the hair on the back of his neck rising, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a warning snarl.

A _warning snarl_ for a young woman he _likes_ and _respects_. "It doesn't _feel_ very much like me."

"That's because you haven't had much chance to get used to it yet. To integrate with the wolf." Hugh sounds _bored_ , as though teaching someone how to be a werewolf is something they do every day—as though _sitting naked in the Chief Prosecutor's living room_ is something they do every day.

"The wolf isn't something to fight or be afraid of." Juniper's voice is firm, certain, but Apollo can hear her take a step away from him, and somehow the voice and the action in concert make him relax, the muscles in his shoulders smoothing down. "The wolf isn't going to do something you don't want to do."

"Uh huh. So I _wanted_ to bite Klavier and make him go through this too?" Sarcasm oozes from Apollo's voice as a spike of guilt runs through his chest.

Silence greets his proclamation, a tense, waiting, pained silence.

Eventually Juniper speaks, and Apollo thinks she is facing away from him, now, her voice hoarse and quiet. "You didn't mean to hurt him."

"I _tore his arm up_." Apollo runs a hand across his mouth. He can still smell blood sometimes, he thinks, still taste liquid iron in his mouth. "With my _teeth_. And made him into a werewolf."

Hugh answers him, this time. "And you've never felt aggression towards him? Never wanted to best Prosecutor Gavin?"

"Not like that!" Apollo restrains the urge to spin around, to growl at the man. Hugh's question had been an honest _question_ , not an accusation, and attacking him for it won't help anything. "I would never hurt him. Not... like this, at least. I need Prosecutor Gavin to be on top of his game if we're going to get to the truth, you know?"

The truth that is sometimes painful, that has turned into a poisonous snake in both their hands, but at least Apollo knows he can _trust_ Klavier. Assuming Klavier would still be willing to work with him after... all this.

Assuming Klavier survives.

Becomes pack.

Apollo shakes his head, resisting the urge to trot down to Klavier's room and bound up onto the bed next to him and see what he can do to help Klavier. The best thing for Klavier right now is to rest, to have _less_ sensory input, not to have a silly brown wolf bouncing around next to him demanding to be his alpha.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Apollo sighs. This isn't getting them anywhere, and the longer he stays still the harder it gets to think. "All right. So I'll still be me, and I won't do anything to hurt anyone, and I'll be able to see Clay?"

"Clay's a ghost." Juniper's voice makes it sound like the most common thing in the world. "Ghosts belong to the moon, like your wolf does, so the wolf can interact with the ghost. When you get better at transforming, you'll be able to hold a partial form, and hopefully both talk to and see him."

"I would really like to do that." Apollo wraps his arms around his chest, pain of a different sort stabbing through him. He _misses_ Clay, and though the pain has faded to a point where it is bearable with the passage of days and the help of Trucy, Athena, and everyone else, the idea of seeing Clay again, of talking to him, of _touching_ him—

Pain flares fire-hot in his joints, and Apollo forces himself to draw a deep breath, to keep his skin smooth and his fingers as _fingers_ for just a little bit longer. "And when I want to turn back, I—what do I do?"

"That's easy!" It sounds like Robin is bounding across the room, her voice changing location with each syllable. "Just remember your human form and reach for it. You know what you look like, right? You see yourself in the mirror every day. When we're done being wolves, reach for _that_ Apollo, and you'll pop right back into your human form."

"You've done it twice now," Juniper says. "Each time will get easier."

"So stop worrying and let's just transform already." Hugh's voice takes on a growling undertone. "The sooner we do this, the sooner we can have some human conversation again without you feeling like you're going to explode and acting like it, too."

A low yip of excitement from Robin, and even though it shouldn't be that's all the push that Apollo needs to fall forward into his transformation.

It still hurts, but it doesn't seem to hurt as _much_ this time around. Or maybe the pain is just over _faster_ , a burning that spreads out from all his joints into his muscles and twists him into a shape that feels _better_ right now.

Feels _right_.

Feels _fantastic_ , and he spins in a circle, four feet and tail flailing wildly as he revels in his body. His body that _responds_ to him, and though he remembers that he has walked for most of his life on two legs, four legs seem perfectly reasonable right now. Four legs allow for different motion, for prancing and lunging and bowing low, and a howl of pure ecstasy slips out before Apollo can help himself. Spinning in a circle, Apollo looks with vision that has become more blurred and color-diluted for the other wolves that he can hear—

And freezes, one paw up in the air, as he sees who is sitting cross-legged on the floor behind him.

"Hey." Clay raises one hand, his expression hesitant and somewhat sheepish. "I'd say long time no see, but you've actually seen a fair bit of me the last da—"

Apollo doesn't give Clay time to finish his statement. He leaps at the man in the GYAXA uniform, and his body collides with Clay's form as though this were last year, as though nothing terrible has happened to either of them, and they both go sprawling to the ground.

Clay has no scent. Where Clay's scent should be there is just the sharp tang of something frigid—ice, but with an even more bitterly cold undertone. Apollo remembers why, now. He remembers the scent of blood, dull and distant through a nose that didn't truly understand what a sense of smell should be. He remembers a funeral, and human after human declaring Clay a hero. He remembers a box, and a picture, and a gravestone that he has stayed away from since the funeral, not wanting to curl up in front of it and never move again.

He remembers that Clay is dead, and the wolf whines out a negation even as Apollo presses his nose and tongue and as much as his body as he can manage to the cold form in front of him.

"It's all right." Clay's hands bury themselves in Apollo's ruff, stroke along his ears, pet everywhere that Apollo's wriggling body allows. "I'm here, and you are one damn fine-looking wolf, and everything's fine."

Apollo forces himself to take a step back from Clay, his ears pinning themselves back against his head as he studies his friend.

"All right." Clay sits up again, brushing at his clothing, though there is no sign of fur stuck to any of it. No sign that Apollo had touched him at all, really, though Apollo can still feel a lingering chill on his own skin. "Things are a little weird."

Apollo's ears press themselves further back against his skull, and he huffs out a sharp breath.

Clay studies him, one hand reaching up to brush at the curls trying to escape from under his hat. "...And maybe you're still a little mad at me for being dead?"

Apollo turns his back on Clay, keeping his ears pinned back and his tail just slightly elevated to continue to show his displeasure.

"Awww, come on!" Clay's hand pats hesitantly at Apollo's shoulder. "I didn't _mean_ to end up dead. It was an accident. And you're not exactly squeaky clean right now! Who accidentally got himself turned into a werewolf and tried to jump out of a seven-story window?"

Apollo leans into the touch, right ear flicking toward Clay to show that he's listening.

"I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry." Clay's expression is very contrite, though he holds it just a moment too long. Then he reaches out again, his hand finding just the right spot behind Apollo's ears and rubbing in a way that makes Apollo's tail curl upward and his back muscles all try to relax at the same time. "And you really _are_ a gorgeous wolf."

Holding still for another few seconds takes all of Apollo's self-control, but he does it. He can't let Clay off the hook _too_ quickly.

"Come on, Apollo." Clay crosses his arms in front of his chest, pouting. "It's not like I _want_ to be dead, you know. Especially before you started being able to see me at all, it was so _frustrating_ wanting to tell you things and help you and—"

Apollo doesn't throw himself at Clay this time, though part of him wants to. Instead he turns, very deliberately, walks the two steps to Clay's side, and presses his head hard against Clay's stomach.

Clay hesitates, and then buries his hands once more in Apollo's fur before resting his head against Apollo's muzzle. "Damn, Apollo, it's good to be able to do this."

Running his tongue along Clay's cheek, Apollo tries to decide what Clay tastes like, now. Cold, mainly, but there is something other than ice in his scent and his taste, something that dances just on the edge of Apollo's memory.

He can't pull up the proper reference, though, and despite the sun beating down in unfaltering golden waves, today is the Lady's day. Today is _his_ day, and he has _Clay_ , and he is _alive_ , and all of these are _wonderful_ things.

There are other wolves that have gathered around them. One is large, with black fur that cascades in slightly off-kilter waves along his body, but he ducks his head as soon as Apollo looks at him, hunkering down behind Juniper's slim brown-gray form. Robin dances around them, making small encouraging yips low in her throat.

Grabbing Clay's sleeve, Apollo presents him to the other wolves, tail up over his back and wagging slightly.

Juniper paces forward, her own tail held neutrally, ears pricked but not challenging. Her nose presses first against Clay's hand and then against the side of Apollo's muzzle. _Careful_.

Frowning, Clay looks between them. "What are you... wait, you're not saying _I_ could become a werewolf?"

Juniper's wolf ducks her head and swishes her tail, a clear sign that she doesn't know.

"A ghost and a werewolf. Right." Clay adjusts his hat, hiding his eyes for a moment, before his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. Shoving his hat back on his head, he looks from Apollo to Juniper, a wry smile on his face. "Well, until I can talk to you guys about this in more detail, probably best to avoid any more disasters. So no biting, Apollo."

Pinning his ears back to his head, Apollo gives Clay a look that needs no translation.

Clay grins, and then breaks into full-fledged laughter. "Man, our lives are _weird._ But wonderful. Afterlives too, I guess. Come on, though—aren't we supposed to be playing?"

Apollo doesn't need any more encouragement. Loosing as deep and resounding a bark as he can, he lunges at Clay, knocking Clay down into Robin and initiating a bout of tousling that Apollo has no doubt he will both win and thoroughly enjoy.

XXX

Apollo stretches, joints popping, and Juniper watches him from the corner of her eye before forcing herself to turn to her own clothing.

He is gorgeous, in wolf and in human form, but he's clearly uncomfortable with nudity still, and she won't take advantage of a teaching situation to watch him.

Robin and Hugh are already gone. Mr. Wright had asked for a second opinion on how Klavier was doing several hours ago, and since then her pack has divided their time, usually keeping one or two wolves with Apollo and having the other one stay with Mr. Wright, both to check on Klavier and to answer any of Mr. Wright's questions. Juniper last checked on Klavier forty-five minutes ago or so, had done what she could once more with her alpha scent and status to reassure the prosecutor that everything is all right. It hadn't been a pleasant encounter, Klavier snarling at her instead of trusting her words, and she had retreated as quickly as she could back to Apollo's side.

The sun has crept well down the sky, leaving the living room in a soft twilight dusk. The moon will be rising soon, though, Juniper knows. She can _feel_ it, a buzzing, bubbling sensation running through her blood.

"Something's going to happen soon, isn't it?"

Juniper turns, trusting that Apollo will have slipped back into his borrowed clothes. Somehow he manages to look wonderful even with his hands covered by the sleeves of Mr. Wright's sweatshirt. "The moon's going to rise soon."

"Oh." Apollo raises his head, his jaw clenching, though his skin pales.

"Don't worry. You'll do just fine." Juniper smiles in what she hopes is an encouraging way. "How many times have you changed now?"

"Does each way count, or is it a round-trip ticket type thing?" Apollo rolls the sleeves of his shirt up. "Not that I suppose it really matters. I'm... getting pretty good at this, I think. Thanks, Ms. Woods. The last few hours have been very helpful, and I feel like maybe I'll... actually make it through the night with my sanity intact."

"You'll do fantastically." Juniper tries not to let his use of her family name sting. Apollo has done remarkably well over the course of the afternoon, seeming far calmer and more controlled than most wolves during their first full moon. She suspects it's because of Clay's ghost, which is virtually inseparable from Apollo. Every time Apollo transforms one way or the other, Clay is there, calling out phrases that are apparently encouraging and helpful, even when they seem like non sequiturs to Juniper. It has helped make it easier for Juniper to avoid any dominance contests with Apollo.

Meaning that neither of them has hurt the other, and Apollo has not been forced into a role within her pack. It also means that though they have played together as wolves, there is still the unresolved tension of who is the stronger and who should be alpha lingering between them when they are on four feet, and when they are on two...

Well, Apollo has plenty of reason to be upset with her.

Apollo isn't looking at her, though. His eyes are fixed on the hallway where the guest bedroom with Klavier is situated, a deep frown etched into his face. "Do you think it would be all right for me to go check on Klavier now?"

Juniper draws her flower forward, taking deep breaths, trying to calm her suddenly-racing heart. She has been short and succinct in her updates for Apollo, not wanting him to get overly upset about Klavier's status, but as the day progresses _she_ is getting more and more worried about the prosecutor. Sometimes he seems all right when they check on him, though it's clear that he's in agony; other times... she doesn't know which is worse, the times when he growls at her, no recognition in his eyes, or the times when he whimpers and tries to move away on muscles that seem incapable of responding appropriately right now. "Do _you_ feel up to seeing Prosecutor Gavin without letting your wolf instincts get the better of you?"

Apollo stops and thinks about it, his expression deeply serious, finger pressed against his forehead. "I think I'll be able to keep from doing much that I wouldn't do... before I was a werewolf. And I know that I can't force him to be pack or any of the other ridiculous things my wolf wants to do. Ah, damn, I don't know. If you think it's too dangerous, I'll just continue to wait here."

"I think, if you're comfortable with controlling yourself, that it wouldn't be a bad thing for you to go see him." Hugging her arms to her chest, Juniper finds herself turning her head away from Apollo, not quite able to look directly at him. "Just remember how much you hurt, when you first Changed. How... confusing it was."

"I remember." Apollo's voice is husky and grim. "That's why I want to help him. I feel terrible that he's going through this because of me."

"You didn't know what was happening." Juniper shakes her head, voice strong and confident. "It wasn't your fault."

Apollo touches his bracelet, and his expression lightens a little as he raises his eyes to her face again. "You really believe that."

"Because it's true. You'd never do anything to hurt anyone." The words say themselves, no input from her conscious mind, and Juniper can feel her face heating.

Apollo doesn't seem to know what to do with the compliment, either, his feet shuffling him an uncertain step to the side, his fingers still on his bracelet. "You've got an awful lot of faith in me."

"You're one of my heroes." Her voice has fallen to a low whisper, but Juniper can't seem to make it rise any higher.

"When you bit me..." A tightening of his fingers around the bracelet, and Apollo is staring hard at her, but his voice isn't accusatory. "You really didn't mean to?"

"I really didn't mean to. And I didn't remember it happening, not until... not until I saw how you were acting this morning." Juniper's breath shudders in her throat, but she forces herself to keep going. "Memory is a little bit... different, between the wolf and the human mind. Not that _we're_ different, we're still the same person, but what... _sticks out_ in the wolf's mind may be very different from the human one. People are all about order and cause and effect, and the wolf... often isn't. It's... less linear, more emotional. Not that this gives me a good excuse. It was an inexcusable action, and you have every right to be furious with me."

Apollo's fingers stay tight around his bracelet for a long, long second, and then he sighs and lets it go. "All the truth. Just like every other time we've talked today."

Juniper looks between Apollo's bracelet and his eyes, not quite certain she understands what he's saying. Though there are certain scent cues that can indicate if someone is blatantly lying—a scent of stress or anger or distress that tends to go along with a lie, especially in those who aren't used to lying—she doesn't think that's what he's using. Not that it matters. "I would never lie to you. Especially about something this important."

Apollo glances down at his bracelet, and then gives her a hesitant, lopsided smile. "Also true. It's nice, having someone willing to talk to me about the weird things happening in my life for a change. Though I guess you're probably not supposed to, huh?"

"It's fine, now." Juniper studies her shoes rather than Apollo's face. "Since you're one of us, it's actually my duty to make sure you know what's going on. Not that I wouldn't be telling you if it weren't! I take care of my people, and I try to make up for mistakes. Even... even when I know that it's not possible."

A few seconds pass in silence as Apollo studies his hands, turning them over repeatedly, flexing and relaxing his fingers as though their feel were unfamiliar. "I think, if I were given the opportunity... I wouldn't have chosen this."

Juniper can feel the blood that had been collecting in her face leave, and she nods. "I understand. It's not for everyone."

"But it's happened. And there isn't a way to undo it. So that means I'm going to have to find a way to be fine with it." Raising his head, Apollo flashes her one of his blinding, energetic smiles. "I'm Apollo Justice, and I'm a werewolf, and I'm fine!"

"You're very fine!" The words are blurted out before Juniper thinks about all that they might imply, a natural inclination to agree with and support Apollo's declaration, and she can feel her face flame again as she realizes all the different ways he might take her statement. "I mean, you're doing wonderfully and even if it's not your first choice, it _does_ come with some perks."

"Yeah?" Apollo rubs at the back of his neck. "The healing thing?"

Juniper nods, glad to have something else to talk about. "The healing thing. We heal fastest around the full moon, but we tend to heal at about twice the speed of a normal person even at the new moon, faster if we can transform. And we don't get sick very often."

"Huh. That's all good." Apollo's fingers dance idly over the surface of his bracelet. "What about aging? I mean..."

"We age at basically a normal human rate. Most of us stay pretty fit and healthy even when we're old, but I think that's a combination of the healing factor and the exercise we tend to get." Juniper shrugs, her clothes and human skin briefly feeling far too restrictive. "Wolves don't like to stay still."

"I've figured that one out." Apollo's tone is dry, though his expression is still contemplative. "Do you mind if I ask you a few more things, about the whole being-a-werewolf... thing? While I'm still pretty coherent and me?"

"Anything you want to know. Though remember that you're always _you_ , even when you're moon-drunk or the wolf's out in full force." If she had her ears, they would be pricked forward, her tail wagging to show her interest and intent. As it is, she has to content herself with watching him closely, rocking back and forth from her heels to the balls of her feet, hoping he'll hear in her voice what she wants him to know.

"You said a pack needs to be at least three people. And that if I join your pack, you and I would have to fight for alpha and I might win. Which I don't want to do. You and the others clearly have a good thing going, and I don't want to mess it up." Apollo pauses to draw a breath. "So assuming Prosecutor Gavin agrees to be in a pack with me, we'll need to acquire one more?"

Juniper nods. "You'll have to either Change someone or find a wolf who wants to join. Well, actually, you'd have to ask me to Change someone for you."

Apollo frowns, his shoulders hunching. "Why would I need to do that? It's pretty clear that my bite's just as good as yours is at turning someone."

"Changing. Turning is—well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Juniper hesitates. "But... well... made wolves aren't supposed to Change people. It's against the rules."

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Apollo takes a step towards her. "Why?"

"It's an old rule. It was thought that the further you go from a born wolf, the more generations and bites removed you get, the further you go from what the Lady intends. The packs thought that if someone was bit by a born wolf instead of a made wolf, they would have a better chance of surviving the Change with their sanity intact." Juniper can see the gears shifting in Apollo's head, doesn't need to watch him turn towards Klavier's room to know what he's thinking. "It was just a theory, and most people don't think it holds much merit anymore."

Apollo's jaw is clenched tight, but he turns to her instead of dashing off down the hallway. "Your people aren't too fond of the wolves you create, are you?"

"Huh?" Juniper blinks. "Of course we are! Most packs have at least one made-wolf in them. They're important. Besides, a lot of born wolves are born from made wolves."

"Yeah, but you keep secrets from them, you won't let them do something pretty fundamental like Change people for their own pack, and you expect them to be submissive." Apollo studies her through narrowed eyes. "I'm not going to accept two of those points, you know. If there's actually a real possibility it might make things easier for the person becoming a werewolf, _maybe_ I would let a... _born-wolf_ bite someone for me, but I'm not going to be a second-class... wolf."

Apollo rubs at his forehead, still scowling, clearly unhappy with how he's wording things.

"I understand." Juniper nods. "I wouldn't want you to be anyone other than who you are, Apollo Justice. You can't change your dominance. I won't keep secrets from you. And the biggest thing about Changing someone is making sure they want it and doing it at the right time. I think that might be how the rumor that made-wolves create more unstable Changes got started—a made wolf is more likely to be unstable themselves and thus to bite someone at a bad time."

Once more Apollo's eyes flick towards Klavier's room. "Like the night of the full moon."

Juniper doesn't know what to say to that, so she just ducks her head, hoping he will be able to smell her sympathy and contrition.

Apollo's right hand is tight around his bracelet again as he turns back to her, his shoulders squared. "What's the worst possible outcome of you telling the other alphas about what happened?"

"The..." Juniper blanches. "I don't think you want—"

A low growl from Apollo, a curling of his lips, and Juniper knows he's not going to back down.

"They could decide to execute all three of us." Juniper continues onward in a rush. "But they shouldn't! I don't think they would. I've been a good alpha, this is the first time I've done anything even remotely against the rules, and so long as you and Klavier seem sane and like you've accepted the situation..."

"No one's going to hurt any of us. I promise you that, Ms. Woods." Apollo's arms both fall to his side, his hands clenched into fists, his head tilted upward, a defiant, certain expression on his lips. "I know how legal systems are supposed to work, and if these werewolves plan on trying anything, they'd better watch out, because here comes Justice."

He's more dominant than her. Juniper is almost certain of that now, her wolf wanting to slink close and press up against him and bask in the confidence and protection that washes out from him.

Instead she forces herself to stand still, because she is an alpha and he is still getting used to what he is. She forces herself to keep her own chin high, to meet his certainty with an equal one of her own. "I'm not planning on letting anything happen to any of us. Especially not you and Prosecutor Gavin. It's the right thing to do, and the least that I can do to try to earn your forgiveness."

Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I can't say that I would have chosen this, or that I'm happy about it. I'm... actually still pretty angry that this has happened."

Licking her lips, Juniper nods, managing to keep her whimper of disappointment locked deep inside her chest. Apollo has been through more than enough over the last year. No amount of grief and regret on her part can make up for the pain and fury he must be feeling, and she can't blame him for not wanting to forgive her so easily.

"I... get angry pretty easily lately, though. Since Clay died. It's... something I'm working on." Apollo's fingers flex, restraint obvious in the way he very carefully keeps his hands from clenching into fists. "And you've been kind, and helpful, and truthful, and I know you feel awful about what's happened. So just... I'm upset about this, but I'm not upset at _you_. I forgive you, if that's what you want, and I just plan on trying to make sure all of us come through this in one piece."

A warm, tense, wonderful, impossible to describe feeling builds up in Juniper's chest, and she presses both hands to her heart, wishing she had her knitting or something else to distract her and fill her hands with something _human_ as the wolf prowls eagerly just beneath her skin.

He _forgives_ her.

He's too good to be true, this knight in shining armor who fights for those without power, and she's hurt him without meaning to but he _forgives_ her and it's almost too good to be real.

Drawing a breath that shakes with emotion, Juniper returns Apollo's tentative smile with one of her own. "Thank—"

" _Polly!_ "

Juniper hadn't heard the security system being disarmed or the front door opening, too caught up in Apollo and all that has passed between them, and it's clear from the startled expression on his face that he's in the same boat.

"You're human still!" Trucy pulls back from Apollo after giving him a fierce, tight hug, holding him at arm's length and peering up into his face. "You look more human than you did when I left. Starting to get the hang of the whole werewolf thing?"

Apollo grins, and it's an easy smile, a type that Juniper hasn't seen much of but that she immediately knows she wants to see more frequently in the future. "Being a werewolf is going just fine."

"Of course it is." Reaching up, Trucy grabs Apollo's little hair antenna and gives them a yank. "You'd say it was going fine even if you were eating someone's leg."

Apollo's expression changes to an indignant pout. "A, I would not eat someone's leg. Not unless there was a very good reason to do so. B, I wouldn't say everything's fine while engaging in cannibalism."

"That's debatable." Athena is grinning, too, as she walks into the room, Widget glowing a bright green. "But you do look and sound better. Nice job, Junie."

Juniper shakes her head. "I won't take any credit for it. Apollo's been incredibly brave and strong, and he's learning really fast."

Trucy beams proudly. "Of course he is."

"Enough about me." Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest. "What about you two? Investigation go well?"

Rolling her eyes, Trucy places one hand on her hip. "Uncle Edgeworth was really _annoying._ He kept talking about proper authorization this, and information trade that, trying to get us to tell him things about what was happening here. That's all right, though. We got around him."

Athena has migrated over to Juniper's side, and she smiles at Juniper before picking up the thread of the conversation. "By which Trucy means we were eventually able to investigate everywhere we needed to go, and I think we'll do just fine at the trial tomorrow."

"Good." Relief shines from Apollo's stance and voice both. "You've got to be extra careful to not get bit though, Athena. The last thing we need is to have to switch attorneys completely right before the trial."

"And the last thing I need is to be an unexpected werewolf." Athena fiddles with her earring. "Don't worry, if I get myself a little scar it's going to be because I want to, on my own time-table."

Trucy pokes Apollo in the stomach. "Though I thought you said you would never, ever consider cannibalism."

"No, I said that I wouldn't eat someone unless I had good reason to. What I consider a good reason to bite someone and what my silly wolf who wants a pack will consider a good reason when the moon comes up—which I think it's going to be doing soon?"

Juniper nods in response to Apollo's questioning look. The room has become steadily darker, is probably somewhat uncomfortable for the human members of their party. Juniper moves to the reading lamp beside the chair Apollo had been in earlier and flicks it on, providing a bit more illumination for everyone.

"Well, decisions I make now and decisions the silly wolf makes may be different." Apollo runs a hand gently over Trucy's hair. "And I really don't want to hurt one of our friends. _Another_ one of our friends."

"I know." Trucy sighs, turning from Apollo to Juniper. "How's Prosecutor Gavin? Has he gone all fuzzy yet?"

"No." Juniper shakes her head. "He should be soon, though. The moon ought to be rising within the next—"

Juniper's not able to say, in retrospect, which sound comes first, the crash or the howl. Both are awful sounds, one the harbinger of utter destruction for something physical, the other a scream that seems to bode the same for the soul and sanity of the screamer.

No one says anything, all of them making an immediate dash for the room that Klavier has been resting in all afternoon.

Juniper catches up to Athena and Trucy before they reach the door, shoves them back, Trucy into Athena's arms. "Stay out, until I say it's safe."

"But—"

"I can—"

" _Apollo_ is desperately afraid of hurting you, and _he's_ in really good control right now." Juniper lets some of the wolf into her voice, a fierce growling undertone. "What do you think Prosecutor Gavin will think if he hurts one of you?"

Trucy flinches back as though Juniper has struck her, eyes tearing up as her hand fists around the clasp of her cape. It's a stronger reaction than Juniper had expected, but she doesn't have time to waste analyzing it.

Once she's confident that Athena and Trucy will stay out of the way, she dashes after Apollo, hoping that the scene she finds will be better than any of the nightmares she is envisioning.


	8. Chapter Seven: The Rising Moon

**Author's Note:** Warning for very mild body horror in the second segment of this—nothing's described in detail, but better safe than sorry. Hope people continue to enjoy!

 _Part Seven: The Rising Moon_

His blood is on fire and his skin is a lake of ice, ready to fracture into a million pieces at any moment as it gives way to the pressure within.

Klavier knows that isn't what's really happening. He knows that it's just his body rearranging itself, restructuring _what he is_ on a fundamental level based on an incredibly short time-table.

He just doesn't always _remember_ that fact.

Remembering anything is hard. Memory requires reaching beyond the pain, rifling through fragmented glimpses of incidents that don't seem to want to stay in the proper order. Everyone keeps telling him he is _fine_ , though, so this must be normal. This must be what is supposed to happen.

He tries burying his nose deeper in the stuffed toy that he has been hugging all afternoon, but it is hard to smell anything now over the reek of his own pain- and fear-tainted sweat. Who is it that the toy belongs to? Someone he cares about, he thinks. Someone he doesn't want to disappoint, just like the shirt belongs to someone he doesn't want to disappoint, but he doesn't remember who anymore.

A muscle spasm rolls up and down his body, clenching and unclenching joints seemingly at random, and for a small amount of time he forgets how to breathe.

Soon. The person who was in here not that long ago had said everything would be over soon, his-her voice confident though his-her scent was shot through with uneasiness, his-her ears pushed back hard against his-her skull.

Except they were speaking, were human, so they must not have had ears to flatten, a tail to express their uncertainty. What did they look like, again? Which scent that wafts through the room with each unexpected air current belongs to them?

Tall and black-haired?

Short and brown-haired?

He can't remember which one it was.

It wasn't Apollo, though. Apollo hasn't seen him since they arrived at this house—this place of refuge, Klavier knows, has a bone-deep certainty about, though the lava that has replaced his bone marrow won't tell him _why_ he is certain this place is safe.

Apollo is fine. They have told him Apollo is fine, all of them. Even Phoenix Wright told him Apollo was fine, the last time Phoenix came to see him.

A whimper squeezes its way out of Klavier's chest, and his body forces muscles that seem to have been replaced by fraying guitar wires to curl him into a protective ball. What did he do to Phoenix this time? What new failure is he being punished for?

Except he's not. The thought crawls its way up through a boiling morass of memories, sights-smells-sounds- _feelings_ that don't quite want to align and make sense. He is not being punished. This was an _accident_ , and he has to survive because... because...

Because Apollo will be hurt if he doesn't.

He sighs, body uncurling slightly at the successful retrieval of the reason. He has to survive, because Apollo doesn't need to be hurt, again. And Phoenix had said he was going to go away, for a little bit, because he didn't think he was helping Klavier and he didn't want Klavier to accidentally hurt him again.

Fair, given what Klavier has done in the past. Very, very fair for Phoenix to be afraid of him, to want nothing to do with him, and Phoenix had sent others in his place. Black-hair and brown-hair and the _other_ one. The one who tells him to be still, and a part of him _does_. The one who tells him he's fine, and he _accepts_ it, unquestioning, until he remembers what has happened before.

He cannot just trust people.

He cannot accept what they say.

He cannot follow them unless he is _certain_ , absolutely _certain_ , that they won't use him for their own ends, and another breathless whimper tears itself from his throat.

He is on _fire_ and he is _freezing_ and he wants to see Apollo. He wants Apollo to tell him that this is what's supposed to happen. He wants Apollo to tell him that this is going to be all right, that Klavier hasn't done something to earn the snarling rage and terror that had been in the wolf's eyes when it bit him.

The wolf had cleaned the injuries, after giving them. Klavier remembers the feel of a warm tongue against his skin, cups his left hand around his right forearm, trying to recapture the moment. That must mean that Apollo forgives him for whatever he did. That must mean that Apollo wanted Klavier to live.

Apollo has always wanted him to live.

Apollo has been angry _for_ him, before, responding to insults and accusations in the press with the same righteous fury he has when his clients are wrongfully slandered and accused.

Apollo wants him to live.

 _Klavier_ wants to live.

He forces his body to turn over, though it doesn't want to, protesting each movement with a different spike of white-hot agony and a further blurring of thought and memory. If he can just find the right position to lie in, maybe the pain will fade.

Movement catches his eye, and he freezes, eyes open wide. The room has become darker and darker over the course of the afternoon, but if he forces his eyes to focus he can just see a blond form standing several feet away, staring at him with a snarl of utter disdain.

 _The mirror_ , a small sane part of his mind tries to reassure him. _There was a mirror, on the wardrobe, and that's all it is_.

He moves, trembling muscles somehow coordinating to force him upright, and the other blond figure moves, and Klavier forgets what he was thinking, all of his attention focused on the new threat.

"Ah, brother." Kristoph shakes his head, emotions once more carefully controlled, though Klavier can still see the disgust in his eyes. "Or would you prefer _bruder_? Not that I expect you can understand either language right now."

Klavier can understand. Sometimes. Usually. He can't remember, actually, if he's been responding to the words or scents or tones or actions of those who come to see him, but it doesn't matter. He can understand what Kristoph is saying.

"Look at you." Kristoph's arms are crossed in front of his chest, the small disappointed frown that Klavier has seen far too much of over the years firmly in place. "Finally visibly becoming the beast you always were, I suppose."

"I'm... n-not..." He can't quite seem to make his tongue work, to string together sounds in either English or German so that they will make comprehensible words. A frustrated whine slides from his lips.

"It fits you, you know." Kristoph studies him, eyes cold and hard. "A whimpering dog, ready to do your master's bidding. Except who's going to be your master, hm? Given what you did to the last person who held your leash, who would _want_ to be near you?"

Alone. He is alone, alone, _alone_ , and he doesn't want to be, but what else did he expect when he disbanded the Gavinners and sent his own brother to death row and was shown to be at least halfway responsible for the sorry state that their legal system has fallen to?

Except he is _not_ alone, he's _not_ , and he snarls out a negation, trying to shake his head and instead falling to the ground.

Kristoph kneels down, tilting his head as he studies Klavier, keeping them on an even level. "Deny it all you want. The fact that you're _here_ , that _he_ bit you and abandoned you, speaks enough volumes on its own, don't you think?"

A louder snarl, and Klavier forces himself into a half-standing position, though the ground seems to sway and buck under his feet. "Apollo... didn't..."

"Didn't what?" Kristoph gestures, one of his grand, audience-grabbing motions, including Klavier's whole trembling form in the motion. "Didn't bite you? I would say that's beyond arguing, at this point. Didn't make you into a monster? You're a _werwolf_ , _bruder_. The very _definition_ of a monster, the ravening beast that will turn on the community with each full moon. Not that _you_ need much help with betrayal and destruction. Your career was built on a lie— _both_ your careers were built on lies, on premises that you accepted when the rest of the world knew they were false. Truth? Justice? They're pretty tales for children, Klavier, and you should have outgrown them. Just like you should have outgrown your family. Another pretty lie that you bought, a collar and leash that I didn't even have to forge for you, that you made for yourself and _handed to me_. And now it seems your friendships are also a lie, because the very first thing he does is attack and abandon you, though I suspect you would follow him unthinkingly, given how you are with the little bitch who's trying to claim you."

"Sh... sh..." He can't find the words. He can't speak, can barely seem to _breathe_ , and he snarls out a negation with as much force as he can, the sound echoing in the enclosed confines of the room.

"I won't be quiet, Klavier." Kristoph shakes his head. "What kind of brother would I be if I didn't tell you what you need to know? They called me a monster, you know. Of course you know. And what is the brother of a monster, do you think? The man who looks like me, what kind of demon do you think he could become if cut loose from all human ties?"

The fingers of Klavier's right hand rake down his cheek as he shakes his head, trying hard to keep his feet under him despite the tilting, twisting ground that seems too far away.

"He knows what you are. They all know what you are." Kristoph's tone is conciliatory, almost gentle. "And that's why he's left you here to die, the monster devoured by the demons you'll never, ever manage to truly banish."

Klavier screams, a half-human, half-animal sound of denial and agony, and throws himself at his brother. If he can't speak, if he can't make a coherent argument out of his scattered memories, there is another way he can stop Kristoph. Another way he can make Kristoph stop insulting Apollo, because Klavier is certain that Apollo is blameless. If there is fault to be laid anywhere, it surely lies with Klavier himself, though he doesn't even remember right now what crime they're discussing.

There is a screech of rending metal, the tiny, tinkling, beautiful sound of shattering glass, the crunch of fracturing wood, and Kristoph disappears.

Klavier yowls again, dragging himself away from the devastated wardrobe. Liquid fire is running across his frozen skin, but it doesn't seem to do anything either to thaw his surface or to lessen the burning that stretches out from his core to consume him.

XXX

Apollo throws open the door to Klavier's room and then freezes, holding onto his human form by the skin of his teeth.

 _Blood._

Blood and pain and fear, sweeping out to assault his nose and draw the wolf even closer to the surface than the almost-risen moon has. Turning into the wolf likely won't help him with Klavier, though.

 _Easy there, partner._ A cold breeze against his shoulder, Clay's voice gentle in his ear, and Apollo breathes in shallowly through his nose and forces his eyes to focus.

" _Juniper!_ " He yells the woman's name before he has really processed what he's seeing, knowing even from disjointed impressions that he is going to need her.

Klavier stands like a drunk in the center of the room, his legs spread wide. Blood spatters form a dark trail from him to the shattered remnants of a wardrobe against the wall, and Apollo can see pieces of glass glittering where they are embedded in Klavier's skin.

Skin that is _moving_ , shifting in ways that Apollo is fairly certain human skin isn't supposed to do, and he watches in horror as Klavier reaches up and rakes the fingers of his right hand down his cheek.

Blood wells up in red-black streams where Klavier's nails touched his skin, patters to the ground in drops that _sizzle_ and _smoke_. Apollo is absolutely certain blood isn't supposed to do that.

Just like skin isn't supposed to melt like candle wax across wounds, and Apollo stares in fascinated horror until Klavier throws his head back and _howls_ again.

The sound is one of utter agony and despair, and Apollo hunches forward, hand to his chest, forcing himself to breathe and stay _human_. "Prosecutor G-Gavin—"

A whimper, a backwards shuffle, and Klavier is on all fours now, his head down, putting as much distance between himself and Apollo as he can.

"Oh no." Juniper's voice is a quiet whisper from just behind Apollo's shoulder. "Oh, no."

Apollo steps into the room on feet that seem too far away, his own skin tingling. "What's _happening_ to him? _We_ don't look like that when we change—"

"He's rejecting it. His body's rejecting the Change." Tears stand out in Juniper's eyes, and both her hands have risen to hover helplessly in front of her mouth. "He's—he's—"

" _No_." Apollo shakes his head. "He's going to be _fine_. You're going to be _fine_ , Klavier."

Klavier's head rises, just slightly, blue eyes that seem to glow with an abnormal light staring out at Apollo through a main of sweat-damp blond hair.

"What do we _do_?" A rolling snarl follows the words, and Apollo forces himself to breathe slow, shallow breaths. _Human._ The best thing he can do right now is be human, at least for the little bit longer that he has until the moon takes all choice away from him.

Juniper pulls her shirt off in one smooth motion, begins slipping out of her skirt before Apollo turns his attention hastily back to Klavier. "We need to get him to Change. _Now_. If he doesn't..."

She doesn't need to finish the statement. Apollo grits his teeth together, leans back against an ice-cold body that is frighteningly solid behind him, and wills himself to stay human. "How?"

"I'm going to Change. Them, too." Juniper gestures to the doorway, and though Apollo doesn't turn to look, he can smell Robin and Hugh behind him. "We'll show him how—give him the suggestion. I'll try to impress upon him the need to Change, to use my alpha status to—"

"No." Apollo shakes his head. "Don't... don't try to force him. We're not going to force you to do anything, Klavier, you hear? Just... show him. Suggest it. Make it... not a bad thing. And I'll... try to do the same. Clay, if you can try to help—I don't know how, but do your ghost power-sucking thing..."

The support behind him vanishes, and Apollo catches glimpses of a flickering image, sidling slowly closer to Klavier.

When Clay gets within three feet of him, Klavier lunges at the ghost, an uncoordinated, snarling leap that is still somehow almost too swift for Apollo to see.

" _Stop it!_ " Apollo snaps out the command, lunging forward, the skin between his shoulder blades bunching as non-existent hackles try to stand on end.

Klavier shrinks back against the wall again, his head to the ground, his fingers raking down his arms in another shower of too-hot blood.

"New plan, Clay. Stay as far away as you can until we've got this sorted." Apollo's voice is rough, and he clears his throat, trying to make it clearer. "Prosecutor Gavin."

A low whimper, and Apollo doesn't think it's possible for Klavier to push himself any closer to the wall.

"Klavier." Apollo takes a slow, cautious step closer to the prosecutor. "Come on, look at me."

Klavier's head rises, hesitant, uncertain.

"That's better. We always need to be able to look each other in the eye, right? To trust each other. Because we're both after the same thing." They don't have much time. Apollo can feel it, his own blood _itching_ under his skin, demanding that he change forms. "And we're both going to be all right. We're both going to be _fine_."

Klavier's mouth moves, a silent repetition of the word.

"That's right. I know this is hard. I know this is painful. Last night, I was absolutely certain that I was going to die." Apollo takes another step into the room, his fingers finding the edge of his shirt. He's going to have to take his clothes off, if he doesn't want to destroy them, but not yet. "But I didn't die. And you're not going to, either."

He can't tell if Klavier understands him, but something in his tone must be working, because Klavier is relaxing, muscle by spasming muscle.

"Watch Juniper." Apollo nods towards where Juniper is standing. "Watch her pack. Watch what they do."

That seems to be all the incentive Juniper needs to shift, her wolf flowing over her like water over parched earth. The little gray-brown wolf stretches, front legs flat on the ground, tail arched in invitation to play, and gives a short bark.

Apollo can feel muscles twitching in his arms and back, his own body yearning to do what Juniper just did, but not yet. He can't let it happen yet.

Kneeling down on the blood-spattered ground in front of Klavier, Apollo holds out a hand. "Come on. Come here. Let me help you."

"H... he..." Klavier's expression contorts, blue eyes wide and feral as he studies Apollo's hand. He doesn't lunge for Apollo, though.

"I'd say it for you in German, but you know me and German don't get along." Apollo moves his hand slowly, ever so slowly, inch by inch closer to Klavier, until finally his questing fingertips touch blond hair. He pulls a small shard of glittering glass from the tangled locks and tosses it aside. "C'mon, Gavin, you don't need something like that to make you shine."

"A... Apol-lo..." The name comes out as a half-howl, barely comprehensible for what it is.

"Yeah. That's me." Apollo walks his hand slowly down Klavier's neck, down his shoulder, flinging away splinters and pieces of glass when he finds them. "I'm here. And we're going to Change together, all right? You and me, we're going to be just fine. Because you can't die on me, Klavier. Especially not like this. I c-can't—I—"

He has to stay in control. He has to stay human, so that he can help Klavier.

A blond head is suddenly resting against his shoulder, fire-hot breath panting against his neck. "F-fine. J-Justice... f-fine."

"Yeah?" Apollo pats Klavier's head. "Yeah, we are. But we've got to change, if we're going to keep being fine, all right? Both of us. Just like they did. So come on..."

There are no injuries on Klavier's body that Apollo can see as he helps Klavier out of his shirt before pulling his own shirt off over his head in one swift motion. There aren't even any scars, any marks to show where Klavier injured himself, just the crescent-shaped scar on his right forearm, the white skin seeming to glow in the deepening darkness.

 _Change_ , Juniper and the other two wolves whisper eagerly into the night.

 _Change_ , the moon cries, just at the horizon.

"I'm going to change soon. I don't have a choice." Apollo has one hand on each of Klavier's arms, holds him tight in place.

Klavier watches him, eyes wide, breathing fast and shallow. He looks better than he had when Apollo first walked into the room, though he still smells of sweat and fear and confusion, and Apollo isn't sure exactly how much of what he's saying is actually being understood.

"And when I change, you're going to change with me. No fighting it. And then we're both going to be just—"

It is like a light turning on inside him, an explosion of power and knowledge that Apollo can barely comprehend. Fire burns white-hot in his joints, an inferno that flares so bright and so fast he barely has time to notice it as he falls forward into his wolf form.

He still has breath in his lungs, though, and he _uses_ it, calling for Klavier to join him, pulling Klavier's shivering body as close to him as he can manage with his suddenly-shifting limbs, knowing he has done all that he can and hoping with all his heart that it has been enough.

XXX

Apollo comes to find him.

Apollo asks him to follow.

Not _demands_ , as Klavier had been afraid he would—as the growling undercurrent of power and certainty that both Juniper and Apollo exuded had told him would happen. He would have had to fight, if Apollo demanded he follow, because Klavier _cannot_ follow blindly, simply because someone says he should. Even if that someone is a person he trusts, even if that someone is a person he would happily choose to face the darkest depths of the universe with, he cannot commit to an action simply because he is ordered to.

But he can _choose_ to follow, if he is asked, if he is given guideposts to look for, and that is what Apollo offers him.

He offers in so many ways, in words that Klavier can almost-maybe comprehend, in gentle touches on too-sensitive skin, in a buzzing hum of power that reaches for and prowls around but doesn't actually force itself onto Klavier.

In a scent that is beautiful, rich and smokey like smoldering brush, _safe_ like nothing else that Klavier has ever smelled before, and he buries his nose in the neck of the man and then in the ruff of the wolf, barely registering the change in physical form because scent and _power_ stay the same.

He isn't allowed to stay like that for long, though. Fire erupts up out of his blood, out of his bones, called by the full moon's light touching the sky. There is no choice in whether the fire comes or not, but there is choice in what it does. He can fight it, if he wishes, throw himself into the center of the inferno and attempt to beat it back. Or he can do as Apollo did, as Apollo and the others plead with him to do, and let the fire claim him.

The transformation is glorious.

It is the heat of stage-lights, ramped up a thousand fold. It is the burn of muscles pushed just to the edge of their endurance and then inched beyond, the aching, twitching feeling extending deep into every recess of his body. It is the adrenaline-surge of a courtroom victory coming into view, all of the pieces falling into place, forming the perfect picture.

He ends up on the ground. He's not certain how he ended up on the ground, but he doesn't like it very much.

Apollo is standing over him, dark brown fur limned in tiny silver lights as the moon sneaks its way through the barriers that someone has set up against it. His head comes down, his nose nuzzling gently at Klavier's neck, at the place where jaw curves up to meet ear.

Klavier huffs out a breath, scrambling unsteadily to his feet. Apollo may be dominant, but Klavier isn't a puppy.

He spends a moment swaying on his feet, reclaiming a sense of balance. Apollo stands beside him, patient and steady.

"Whoa."

The exclamation comes from near the door, and Klavier raises his head, lips pulling back instinctively from his teeth.

The man in the blue coat—the _familiar_ man, though Klavier doesn't quite remember the name at the moment—raises his hands. "Easy there. That was just... wow. Do you guys have any idea what you look like? I mean, watching you transform is always pretty cool, but the whole moon-change thing apparently comes with its own little silver lightning bolts and it's just—it's _cool_."

Apollo's tail begins wagging, a violent side-to-side motion that wiggles his whole lower body, and his mouth drops open in a silent laugh.

Klavier pricks his own ears up. He doesn't understand exactly what the man is saying, but he hears nothing threatening in the man's tone, and Apollo is clearly happy to see him.

Movement, to his right, and Klavier jumps to the side, accidentally ramming into Apollo. Neither of them falls, but Apollo snaps his teeth a hair's breath from Klavier's shoulder. Pinning his ears back, Klavier apologizes, raising first one front paw and then the other to indicate that he is still trying to get used to his own body.

The three wolves to their right don't take advantage of the opening. Their leader, a small female, watches Apollo with bright, wary eyes. She doesn't attack, though—doesn't make any threatening display at all, instead sitting down very deliberately, her ears pricked forward. Her tail twitches once, a hesitant invitation.

Apollo paces forward, his own tail held arched over his back, his ears pricked forward. Klavier moves beside him, watching the two wolves who flank their alpha. If either of them try anything, Klavier will be there to protect Apollo.

Neither makes a threatening move, though. The black wolf looks away from Klavier, huffing out a breath as though bored, his ears pinned back on his head in submission. The brown female gives an excited yip, her paws shuffling in place, claws skidding on the hardwood floor in her eagerness. She, too, looks away when Klavier stares at her, ears pressing back against her head for a moment before flicking forward in renewed interest.

The alpha— _Juniper_ , he finally manages to dredge the name up—stands when Apollo is a pace in front of her. Her head moves, a slight flick left and then right, and her wolves press up against her flanks.

Klavier drops his head, keeping his body close enough to Apollo's side that their fur brushes, not so close that he will slow Apollo if Apollo needs to move.

Apollo leans forward, draws in a deep breath of Juniper's scent before wuffing it out in a satisfied grunt.

Juniper leans forward in turn, her nose just by Apollo's ear, and draws a breath of her own. Her sigh is mingled joy and longing, but her tail wags, her ears stay perked forward. There will not be a fight here, not today.

The brown female is the first to break the tableau, charging forward and barreling into Klavier. They go down in a flailing mass of limbs, but Klavier's grunts are ones of excitement and eagerness as he struggles to right himself and pin the female to the floor.

The moon is climbing high, their alphas have agreed to a truce, and they are _alive_.

The wolf doesn't understand why this last point fills him with such giddy joy, but he doesn't question the feeling, instead raising his voice in happy song, hoping that his alpha will join him.

XXX

Phoenix creeps toward the door to the guest bedroom, glaring daggers at Trucy and Athena, silently willing them to stay in place on their side of the doorway.

Trucy tries taking a tentative step forward anyway.

Phoenix shakes his head, eyes narrowing. Apparently he looks properly determined and fatherly, because she sighs and creeps back to Athena's side, her hand slipping into Athena's.

He hasn't heard anyone speaking in two or three minutes. On the plus side, he also hasn't heard anyone screaming. There has been the odd canine grunt or grumble, but Phoenix has minimal experience with dogs and isn't sure if they've been happy or unhappy sounds.

It's hard to see. The hallway is dark, the lights off for Klavier's benefit. Some light is trickling in from the library, where Phoenix had been talking with Hugh and Robin before Klavier started screaming, and from the living room, where Apollo and Juniper had been practicing. It's enough that Phoenix can see Athena and Trucy, but he doubts he'll be able to see much in Klavier's darkened room.

Someone needs to look, though, to see what kind of disaster they're dealing with. Phoenix's stomach clenches tight, and he tries very hard not to picture dead bodies—well, one particular dead body, and the conversations that would follow with both Edgeworth and Apollo.

A cold breeze brushes past him, and Phoenix shivers once as he leans carefully around the door. He finds himself holding his breath without meaning to, hoping that none of the wolves will take his presence as a threat.

They haven't been dangerous so far. Other than Apollo biting Klavier this morning, none of the werewolves have shown any signs of aggression. Hugh and Robin have made it clear that just after the moon rises is the time when their wolves have the most ascendance, though, and suggested that everyone else try to steer clear around then—especially given Apollo and Klavier's status as newly-Changed wolves.

This wouldn't be as much of a problem if Klavier hadn't been destroying things and screaming five minutes ago.

At first all Phoenix can see is a shifting mass of fur covering most of the back half of the room. Debris litters the right wall, the wardrobe that had been standing there reduced to what is probably very expensive kindling and broken glass. They'll have to sweep up, as soon as the room is empty of wolves.

A long, low howl cuts through the darkness, and Phoenix jumps despite himself. Squinting his eyes, he tries to bring the wolves into focus. Is one of them injured? There aren't any bodies on the floor, right? At least none that aren't squirming, a wriggling mass that is being watched over by two wolves who are sitting side by side. Phoenix is _pretty_ sure it's Apollo and Juniper watching but he's not entirely—

Light explodes into the room, and Phoenix jumps back, a startled yip that is almost as loud as the unhappy noises the wolves make escaping his throat.

"Wright." Edgeworth has somehow appeared behind Trucy and Athena, by the light switch. " _What_ exactly is going on?"

Phoenix opens his mouth, looks into the guest bedroom with its destroyed furniture, strange spatters that are maybe-probably blood, scattered clothes, and five wolf-form werewolves, and closes his mouth again, mind reeling as he attempts to come up with a proper bluff.

Edgeworth stalks forward with his usual grace, coming to stand beside Phoenix and look into the room. Athena and Trucy follow behind him, Trucy with a gleeful smirk, Athena with a slightly guilty expression that says she knows Phoenix isn't going to be happy about this.

A wolf with fine golden fur darts forward, away from the window and towards them, yipping in a low, excited voice. He skids to a stop in front of Edgeworth, his tail low, waving hesitantly back and forth.

Edgeworth stares down at the wolf, his index finger tapping against the side of his jacket. Silver eyes meet blue for just a moment, and then the wolf lowers his head, ears pricked forward, and gives a hesitant _woof_.

Edgeworth's stare transfers itself to Phoenix, and he raises one hand to point down at the wolf. "Gavin?"

Phoenix peers into the room at the other wolves. "Probably. Nobody else was yellow earlier, at least."

"Come, Wright." Edgeworth turns on his heel, back toward the living room, nearly colliding with Trucy and Athena before they move out of his way. "You and I have a great deal to discuss, and it's probably better we start sooner rather than later."


	9. Chapter Eight: Cavalries and Cascades

_Part Eight: Cavalries and Cascades_

Miles Edgeworth is twenty-eight years old, and he's fairly certain he's going to die.

He's almost _entirely_ certain the detective who was working with him is dead. He somewhat _hopes_ that the man is dead. Someone shouldn't sustain those kinds of injuries to their neck and chest and still be alive. Edgeworth is glad, for once, that he isn't able to bring Gumshoe with him when he travels overseas. As much as Edgeworth liked the detective he was working with, watching someone he has known for years be eviscerated by a monster that shouldn't exist would have been even worse.

The most terrible part is that the detective's sacrifice is probably going to be in vain. Edgeworth knows who the murderer is. He knows _why_ , has enough pieces of the puzzle to hopefully uproot the drug cartel that has been behind this. He even has the answer, now, as to how the more unlikely aspects of the murders took place—how people were tracked to places where they should have been safe, how people were driven into fits of horror that led them to make poor decisions about where they ran.

 _He_ has probably made a poor decision about what direction to run in. In his defense, it's more the dark night and his unfamiliarity with the surroundings rather than stark terror that has caused this. There are very few things that will let terror override more useful emotions for him, at least in the short term, and thankfully the likelihood of there being an earthquake that he can feel in northern Germany is low.

Then again, until four minutes ago Edgeworth would have said that the likelihood of his running into a werewolf was _non-existent_.

Werewolves don't exist.

Werewolves are creatures of myth and magic.

There is no scientific basis for a creature that can change mass and shape, at will or at the call of the moon.

A werewolf is chasing him down right now, and Edgeworth is fairly certain it's going to catch up with him before he finds his way out of the forest and into the sane light of the embassy's front door. Was it always this dark out here? Was it always this hard to _see_ in the dark? Perhaps, if he survives this, he will think about listening to Wright the next time Wright asks him if he is having trouble reading the words on the page in front of him, even if Wright follows it up by asking if the book is so good Miles is attempting to kiss it.

He has _definitely_ gotten himself turned around, the darkness pressing in around him with an ever-increasing sense of menace, no sign of shelter in sight. His breath burns in his throat and his chest is an inferno of fire surrounding his too-rapid heartbeat.

Stupid, to die here, like this. After all he's been through, after all that he's faced and come out on top, dying like a child in a fairy-tale who didn't listen to the warnings—

He escapes being bit only because he trips, falling face-first into the unforgiving ground while the wolf that had been chasing him soars over his back.

It circles around, and the clouds, apparently sensing a moment of unfulfilled drama in his ridiculous life, choose that moment to part. Moonlight glints off of sharp white teeth—too many teeth for a proper canine mouth, he thinks, but he doesn't have a chance to really count them, given the circumstances. Dark fur seems to shimmer as the beast moves, pacing toward Edgeworth, and a sound that is suspiciously like laughter from an inhuman throat echoes off the trees around them.

He's going to die.

He's going to die at the hands of something he doesn't even _believe in_ , and that is the only thing that keeps the panic from rising up and consuming him, sending him into a nightmare of shaking earth and useless air.

The wolf gathers itself on its back legs and launches itself at his throat.

Something else leaps over Miles' head and collides with the monster attacking him, the two figures tumbling to the ground in a flailing mass of teeth, claws, fur, and rumbling growls.

And then one of the wolves isn't a wolf anymore. In a shower of silver sparks that leave after-images burned into Edgeworth's sensitive eyes, the dusty-colored wolf becomes a familiar Interpol agent.

A very angry Interpol agent.

A very _naked_ Interpol agent.

Lang has both hands buried in the wolf's fur, and his human lips are pulled back from his teeth as he snarls into the face of the wolf, not seeming intimidated in the least. " _Change_ , you motherless, mewling pup! _Change!_ "

The wolf does, fur and fangs sinking back into a familiar human visage. Whimpering, the man turns his head to the side, his neck scant centimeters from Lang's face.

"He's _mine_." Lang's words are a low hiss. "Do you hear that? _Mine_. And no one hurts my pack. You already _did_ , and I'll make sure you pay for that, but you _will not_ touch him. Understand?"

The murderer-werewolf just whimpers again, squirming further down into the ground.

Lang climbs off of him, his eyes narrowed. "Move before I say you can and I will rip your throat out."

The killer watches Lang from the corner of his eye, his tongue running over his lips, but he doesn't move even when Lang turns his back on him.

Edgeworth doesn't take his eyes off the killer. It makes him feel slightly better, being able to keep an eye on the monster. It also keeps his eyes from wandering anywhere more inappropriate, especially as Lang squats down in front of him.

"Mister Prosecutor?" Lang shoves a hand back through his hair. There is blood staining Lang's face and chest and left arm, though there are no injuries that Edgeworth can see. "Are you all right?"

Edgeworth forces himself up into a kneeling position on arms that are shakier than he would like. "I'm just fine."

"Really?" Lang leans closer to him, sniffing noticeably. "Because it's really important if you got bit. Like, you need to tell me _right now_ so that we can start dealing with it. As Lang Zhi says, the unlicked wound is the most likely to fester."

"I'm fairly certain that is both untrue and unsanitary." Edgeworth draws a breath, holds it for a moment, and decides that he will have to say what's on his mind, no matter how ridiculous or silly it seems. "Though I must ask, would your Lang Zhi have happened to be a werewolf?"

"Yes." Lang's lips pull back from his teeth in a smile that is, well, _wolfish_. "He most certainly was. What I'm trying to figure out is if _you're_ going to be a werewolf in five days or so."

Edgeworth shakes his head. "I am most certainly _not_ a werewolf."

"You aren't right now. And as long as you didn't get bit, you won't be." Another flash of teeth. "Not unless you ask me to change you, of course. I would have you in my pack in a heartbeat, Mr. Prosecutor."

"While I believe I'm flattered by the offer, I will also very much have to refuse." A shiver runs up and down Edgeworth's body, despite his efforts to suppress it. "That... other werewolf... is our murderer."

"Yeah, I figured that out when I found the body." Any hint of levity vanishes from Lang's face. "Sorry about that. I should have figured it out earlier, but I trusted the local alphas."

"Right. Of course." Alphas. He really shouldn't be surprised by that, Edgeworth supposes. " _You_ are an alpha?"

Lang laughs, and the sound is very... _human_. "Yeah. I'm an alpha. An alpha of alphas, actually. About a third of Asia answers to me, and I've gotten most of Europe and North America to recognize my usefulness, though of course I'm not going to interfere with their alpha councils. Not without good reason, at least."

Edgeworth nods. "Of course."

The most tentative smile Edgeworth has ever seen on him touches Lang's face. "You're handling all this really well. Better than I was expecting, given your whole logic and reasoning thing."

"Logic involves accepting what one sees, unless there is good reason not to." Hauling himself to his feet, Edgeworth swipes ineffectually at the forest bits that have attempted to embed themselves in his clothing. He's fairly certain even his best cleaners will have a difficult time with this. "At the moment, that seems to dictate accepting that you are a werewolf, and our perpetrator was a werewolf. Is this going to make it difficult for us to press charges?"

"It's going to make it difficult for our people to accept his incarceration." Lang glances toward where the man is sprawled on the ground, and rumbles out another impressive growl that stops the tentative wriggling their murderer had begun. "But assuming you can get your conviction before the next full moon—"

Miles raises both eyebrows. "Might I assume that involves doing it in the next five days?"

Lang blinks. "I wouldn't have expected you to know that."

"You said that I would be a werewolf in the next five days if I had been bitten." Shrugging brings aches and pains that adrenaline had hidden to life, and Edgeworth decides he's not going to do that again in the near future. "If there's anything about popular mythology involving werewolves that's accurate..."

Laughing, Lang shakes his head. "You and that logic. But you're right."

"Since I haven't been bitten, though, I've no reason to..." Edgeworth hesitates, choosing his word carefully. "Worry?"

"Nothing to fear, Mr. Prosecutor." Lang claps him on the shoulder. "You'll only become a werewolf if you decide you want to. You're under my protection, after all. Now, if you don't mind heading back to base and getting some back-up as well as some clothes for both of us...?"

He has to wait for Lang to point him in the right direction, but Miles eventually makes his way to the building he hadn't been able to find on his own, turning over Lang's words in his mind.

He wins the case handily, in less than a day.

Then he promptly relegates all that he has learned about werewolves to the same corner of his mind that he uses for Wright's ridiculous little magatama and its psycho-locks, only to be pulled out when it seems the world has become mad enough to warrant it.

XXX

"So." Phoenix collapses into one of the kitchen chairs, smiling hopefully up at Miles. "I take it you already know about werewolves? That's... fantastic!"

Edgeworth just stares at him as the echoes of Phoenix's overly-enthusiastic endorsement fade.

Wincing, Phoenix slouches down a bit further in his chair. "It's been a really long day, okay? I'm just incredibly happy that everyone's alive and you already know at least some stuff so this doesn't come off as me just being a crazy person."

"I would say that there is still a judgment to be made about that last point." Miles settles into the chair across from Phoenix, having stopped at the counter to put water into an automated kettle to heat. "But I am aware of certain... possibilities. Possibilities that make some of what I have heard and seen today fall into a certain pattern."

"Possibilities. Yep." Phoenix resists the urge to snicker. This is really not a laughing matter, but he's just so _relieved_ that Klavier is alive, that Apollo is adjusting, that everyone seems to be well on the road to being _okay_. "Werewolves are definitely a possibility."

Miles winces just slightly at the term _werewolves_. Which is silly, because three minutes ago he was pointing down at a large blond wolf and correctly naming it as one of his prosecutors.

A large blond wolf that has followed them into the kitchen, it seems, Klavier pacing forward slowly, with his head down but his ears pricked forward and his tail waving tentatively back and forth. Phoenix supposes he shouldn't be surprised—Apollo had seemed to find comfort in Phoenix and Trucy's presences as a wolf, and Miles is someone that Klavier respects and cares for.

The rest of the wolves have apparently decided to follow Klavier, Apollo pacing stolidly behind Klavier's leaner, lankier wolf, his tail draped across his back, his head high and his eyes unyielding. It's odd, seeing him like this. Which Phoenix realizes is a rather stupid thing to think, because of _course_ it's odd to see his protege as a werewolf, but there's something about watching Apollo's wolf eyes in the clear light of the kitchen that is... disconcerting. They are the same eyes that he sees every day, the same color, the same intelligence, the same fierce determination, but the transference to the wolf's face comes with subtle changes that add up to something... dangerous.

Or... maybe not dangerous. But not _human_ , not something he can predict accurately yet, the same _something_ that really drove home the truth of what Juniper and the other Themis students were talking about when they worried about Apollo losing himself. It coexists right now with the man Phoenix knows and trusts, not overriding it, but a shiver still runs up and down Phoenix's back as he studies the wolves.

Klavier has edged his way forward, his neck stretched out. Apollo moves forward with him, always a few paces behind, watching Edgeworth with clear wariness. Juniper, Robin, and Hugh have followed them, the wolves spreading out to sniff around the kitchen. After what seems like a very long time the very edge of Klavier's nose gently connects with the tip of Edgeworth's fingers.

Edgeworth stares down at the wolf, his brows drawn together, silver eyes contemplative. Then he raises the hand that Klavier's nose is touching, reaching forward slowly to scratch the wolf between the ears. Long fingers stroke through golden fur, once, twice, three times, and then Klavier is gone from in front of Miles, running in circles in the clear area in front of the counters in the kitchen, yipping quietly to himself in what sounds like excitement and joy.

Miles turns his attention to Phoenix, expression still nonplussed. His finger points at Klavier. "Gavin."

The finger shifts to Apollo, who is sitting calmly a pace or so from the table, watching Klavier until the blond wolf trips and slides across the floor. Standing with a very Apollo sigh, the brown wolf moves to Klavier's side and helps nose him back onto his feet, earning a face-washing in the process. "Justice."

Phoenix nods.

"Woods?" Edgeworth points hesitantly at Juniper's wolf. "Yes, that would fit with what Ema said. Woods and Newman and O'Conner."

Phoenix can feel his mouth hanging open, and quickly shuts it. "Correct on all counts. _How_ do you know that?"

"Woods is one of the local alphas." Standing abruptly, Edgeworth moves to the cupboards, pulling out tea cups and setting them by the kettle. He gestures to the cups and raises an inquiring eyebrow at Phoenix, who nods. Though he would like something stronger, tea is probably the better option. Turning to the kitchen doorway, Edgeworth's expression softens slightly. "And you, ladies? Care for some tea?"

"Yes, please, Uncle Edgeworth." Trucy is all polite affection, wending her way between the wolves until she can pull out a chair at the table.

"If you don't mind." Athena is clearly a bit less certain of the room, her eyes darting from Phoenix to Miles to the wolves, and Phoenix wonders what she's hearing in their voices.

"Not at all." Pouring water into the four mugs, Edgeworth pulls out tea bags from another cupboard.

Phoenix waits for him to continue, but apparently Miles has decided if he just focuses on making tea, maybe there won't be werewolves milling about his ankles when he's done. While it's somewhat endearing, it's not a facade that Phoenix can allow him to maintain for long. " _Why_ do you know that Juniper is a local alpha?"

"Because I was contacted about it when she was first brought in as a murder suspect." Setting a mug down in front of Phoenix, Edgeworth glares at him as though this is somehow Phoenix's fault. "The wolves can't allow one of their own to be incarcerated over the full moon, given—well, you see what happens on the full moon. So they reached out to the nearest person on their in-the-know list, and that happened to be me."

"Right." Phoenix nods, swirling the tea bag around in the hot water. " _Why_ are you on the in-the-know list?"

Edgeworth sets mugs down in front of each of the girls and sighs. "Because one of my acquaintances in Interpol happens to be a werewolf and an alpha, and through an unfortunate series of events I came to be let in on the secret."

"An Interpol agent you—no way." Phoenix buries his head in his hands. "No way no way no _way_. The wolf-man that you and Franziska talk about is _actually a werewolf_? And you've _known_?"

"I wasn't brought into the loop until four years ago, long after La—my contact had been given his monickers. Otherwise I would have thought of a less... compromising way to refer to him." Edgeworth's back straightens, expression defensive, as though _that_ were the most important part about his wolf-man colleague being, well, a _wolf-man_.

"You've known for _four years_." Phoenix stops stirring his tea. "You've known for _four years_ that _werewolves are real_ , and you never thought that _maybe you should share this information_?"

"It's a _secret_ , Wright. One that my colleague asked me to keep." Miles takes a sip of tea, despite the fact that it should still be scalding hot. "He assured me that werewolves only turn people who have asked to be turned, and that they police their own. I assume there was some kind of... incident involved in our current outbreak...?"

"Yeah, you could say that." The same incident involved in a lot of the heartbreak over the last few weeks, and Phoenix scowls down at his tea. "You remember when the courtroom exploded during the Phantom case?"

Edgeworth's eyes narrow.

"Yeah, hard to forget, stupid question. And you remember that Juniper was there and Apollo saved her?" Phoenix swipes a hand back over his hair, surprised to find it still mostly in place. "Apparently she bit him when he saved her, by accident. He just transformed for the first time this full moon, not having any idea what was happening to him. One of those transformations was in the men's bathroom at the courtroom. Klavier disturbed him in the middle of it. You can guess the rest."

Edgeworth's gaze tracks again to the blond wolf, who is currently splayed on his side next to Apollo, staring up at Apollo with utter trust in his wide blue eyes. "Thank you. For taking care of him."

"I wasn't going to just leave him there." Phoenix shrugs, eyes dropping to his tea, not wanting to watch the wolves. It seems almost... impolite, to watch the wolves as they interact. As though observing their body language is watching a very personal conversation. "And I'm really glad he's all right."

"You and several other people. Detective Skye was quite worried about him." Miles clearly directs the words to the wolf on the floor, though it's unclear from Klavier's reaction—pricked ears and a speeding-up of the wagging of his tail—whether he understands or is just glad that Miles is talking to him. "And Apollo is adjusting well?"

"He's managing." Phoenix takes another sip of his tea, the start of a smile playing around his lips. "It helps that Clay Terran's ghost is visible to him when he's in wolf form."

"Wright..." Edgeworth curls his lip as he turns back to study Phoenix. "Just because I have no choice but to accept, for the moment, that werewolves are real does not mean it's fair game to talk about other mythologic beings as though they're real."

"Ghosts are very real, Edgeworth. We have had ghosts in the courthouse. _Evil_ ghosts in the courthouse, responding to the judge, not just people that Maya is channeling." Phoenix backs off slightly as Edgeworth's shoulders stiffen in clear discomfort. "Plus you know about the magatama and the—"

" _Yes_ , I know about the magatama and the psycho-locks and werewolves. And perhaps, since all that is real, ghosts are real too." Edgeworth takes another long drought of tea. "It doesn't change the fact that they're scientifically dubious, logically inconsistent, and things that I don't enjoy thinking about unless I have to."

"Scientifically dubious." Phoenix quirks an eyebrow, deciding not to correct Miles on his terminology for psyche-locks. It would almost be a shame if he started using the proper word now. "You've been spending too much time with Ema."

Edgeworth just glares at him. "Putting aside my personal beliefs and comforts, what are your plans now that you've destroyed my house?"

"We have _not_ destroyed your house." Phoenix turns to Athena and Trucy for back-up. "The house is still standing and overall not in bad shape."

"Nothing that a little vacuuming and a new wardrobe in Klavier's room won't fix." Trucy puts on her best charming expression.

"And we _did_ keep everyone alive." Widget flickers a hesitant green as Athena speaks. "And sane, for the most part."

"As sane as any of us ever were?" Edgeworth drums his fingers against the table, but it's fond exasperation in his voice as he shakes his head. Setting his cup down, he points at Phoenix. "But what are your plans for feeding the wolves? Exercising them? Explaining to the neighbors if—"

They really should have expected Klavier to howl, all things considered. It's even a beautiful sound, at least to the part of Phoenix's mind that doesn't immediately associate the howl with the possibility of a near-death experience.

Trucy is out of her seat and down in front of Klavier within seconds. "Shhh! You can't do that right now! Daddy and Uncle Edgeworth are talking."

The wolf blinks at her, and then stretches out his neck to lick gently at her cheek.

Phoenix lets out a breath he hadn't meant to hold, relieved that his daughter seems to have once again avoided being mauled by werewolves. "Trucy? Maybe you should be careful about how you interact with the werewolves on the full moon...?"

"It's Apollo and Klavier." Trucy rolls her eyes as she returns to her seat. "They won't hurt me, Daddy."

Athena reaches out to grasp one of Trucy's hands. "I'm pretty sure Klavier would have said the same thing about Apollo this morning. And Apollo, I'm sure, didn't want to hurt Klavier."

"Yeah, but that was _different_. Polly was hurt and scared and confused. _Anyone's_ dangerous when that happens." Trucy waves a hand back toward the wolves. " _Now_ they're happy. Can't you see it? Can't you _feel_ it?"

"I can hear it." Athena covers Widget with one hand, her eyes closing. "It's... it's really impressive, actually, how much is in their voices. Joy and power and certainty... but we should still be careful."

"We should be." Edgeworth frowns at Trucy. "This is one time when you should listen to your father. The survival rate for those bitten during the full moon is only something like ten percent."

Phoenix can feel his face paling as he turns to look at Klavier.

"Higher for those bitten during the day, when the moon doesn't hold sway. Whatever _that_ means." Edgeworth's scowl leaves Phoenix in no doubt that he's quoting Lang when he talks about the moon. "But try to avoid being bitten tonight, all right?"

Trucy nods, properly chastened or at least able to appear so. "All right."

"So." Edgeworth turns back to Phoenix once more. "What is your plan?"

"Hum a beat and fake it?" Phoenix nods, slumping back in his chair. "Yeah, that's about my plan. It's worked out great so far."

"Brilliant." Giving a long-suffering sigh, Edgeworth pulls out his phone.

Phoenix studies him suspiciously when he replaces the phone a moment later. "What did you just do?"

"Informed the good detective that I _will_ be needing the cooler's worth of meat that he helpfully volunteered to pick up if a certain case I was worrying about went the way I expected." Edgeworth smiles smugly.

"Uh huh." Phoenix runs his tongue over his lips. "You're bringing Gumshoe _here_. Where we have five werewolves. Who are supposed to be a secret."

"It's _Detective Gumshoe_ , Wright." Miles stands, moving to the counter to refill his tea mug. "Surely even _you_ can come up with an excuse that will stand up to the detective's intense scrutiny."

Phoenix opens his mouth to protest, and then shuts it again, having to give that point to Edgeworth. Besides, he really can't complain.

It's just nice to have someone else here to help handle everything.

XXX

Gumshoe arrives with a very impressive cooler filled with meat a half hour later.

Edgeworth makes his way to the door, accompanied by all five wolves. He leaves Phoenix, Trucy, and Athena in the kitchen, hoping that perhaps if he is the only one present Gumshoe will ask fewer questions.

The wolves look up at him as he stands with his hand on the doorknob, eyes seeming to spark unnaturally. There is nothing threatening about any of their movements. Klavier and Apollo are to his right, and thus with a better angle on the door, Apollo watching with ears perked forward and an expression of calm interest, Klavier sitting next to Apollo, his head on Apollo's back. Juniper and her pack are to Miles' left, and he wishes, briefly, that they had ended up on opposite sides, since he trusts Juniper's wolves slightly more to be in control of their instincts.

"I've no idea if you can understand me, but I would greatly appreciate the five of you electing to stay in the house, so that we don't have to chase you down. Please." Edgeworth finds his eyes pausing again and again on Apollo's stubborn, unmoving expression. Closing his eyes, Edgeworth does something that goes against all of his logic-oriented senses. He already has werewolves in his house; admitting that ghosts exists is not such a large step, and he can always try to forget again in the morning. "And Mr. Terran, if there's anything you could do to assist in that matter..."

Edgeworth doesn't see anything, but the wolves clearly do. Their eyes flick away from him, and Apollo jumps to his feet, tail waving high, knocking Klavier back as he bounds toward the hallway.

Well, that should solve one problem, at least. Opening the door as much as the chain allows, Edgeworth peers out at Gumshoe's proud grin.

"Hey there, Mr. Edgeworth!" Gumshoe's arms hold the handles on a cooler that looks like it weighs at least as much as Edgeworth himself. "Brought as much non-frozen meat as I could buy, just like you said."

"Thank you, Detective. I'm going to open the door in a moment to let you in. There are five rather large... dogs currently inhabiting my foyer and front room, though, and if you could try to ensure none of them escape when you enter, it would be appreciated."

"Don' you worry, Mr. Edgeworth, dogs is something I've got experience with." Gumshoe's smile only seems to widen.

Trusting the detective to be true to his word, Miles closes the door, releases the chain, and then turns the handle enough for Gumshoe to prod it the rest of the way open.

Gumshoe comes through the door cooler-first, grabbing the door before it can swing wider than the minimal amount of width needed to allow entry of the object. He follows the cooler with his bulk, filling the entryway, making a series of _shush, shush_ sounds low in his throat that are probably supposed to be soothing.

And perhaps they are. Certainly the blond wolf that has Klavier's eyes seems to respond to them, his ears pricking up from where they had flattened against his skull at the sight of the cooler. Juniper and her wolves all maintain a silent, still vigil where they sit next to the shoes, so it's hard to tell if they're reassured or not.

"Oh, wow." Gumshoe closes the door behind him, his eyes wide and his expression awe-struck as he studies Klavier's wolf form.

Klavier bounds up to the detective, and Edgeworth is struck again by how large and well-muscled the wolves are. Gavin is not a particularly strong man, built to slim and sleek lines, and his wolf is less wide and impressive than Apollo's, but he still looks decidedly dangerous.

Potentially deadly, certainly infectious, but worrying about any of those things isn't going to be useful. Lang told him that the wolf is most ascendant during the full moon, and the wolf is not _human_ , but it is still the same heart and soul, and he trusts both Gavin and Justice to have a strong enough sense of ethics to hold any darker instincts in check.

The blond wolf paces forward, ears pricked, and shoves his muzzle under Gumshoe's hand.

Gumshoe kneels down, staring into the wolf's eyes as he runs both hands over Klavier's head, scratches fiercely behind Klavier's ears and under the wolf's chin. "These guys are _gorgeous_. Oh, hey, that's the one that was with Mr. Wright and Trucy this afternoon."

Apollo's wolf has stalked back across the room, eyes intent on Gumshoe and Klavier.

Holding out a hand, palm up, for the wolf to sniff, Gumshoe smiles. "Hey there, boy. Apollo, wasn't it? There's a good Apollo."

And then Gumshoe is petting both wolves, and Edgeworth tries to tell his racing heart that this is a good thing.

"The meat's for them, huh?" Gumshoe looks up at Edgeworth, one hand still working on each wolf. "Sure you didn't want me to pick up dog food, too? Or, y'know, just pick up dog food?"

"They're Agent Lang's dogs." They will be Agent Lang's dogs sometime in the next twenty-four hours, at least, the Interpol agent having promised he will be here as soon as he can be when Miles explained what he thought was happening this afternoon. "This is what he recommended doing."

 _If you've really got wolves who didn't ask to be Changed, do your best to keep them contained. Don't challenge them—if they're dominant, they'll want to put you in your place; if they're submissive, they'll see it as a threat._ Lang's voice had been quiet and certain, filled with an intensity that Miles has only ever heard from him when discussing Shi-Na and his relationship with his men. _Feed them—raw meat, if you can, it'll make their wolves feel less like they have to go hunting. And don't get yourself bit, Mr. Prosecutor, not unless you're sure you can accept having a wolf upstairs with that logic of yours._

"These're Agent Lang's dogs?" Gumshoe's eyes rake over the assembled wolves again. "Why're they here?"

"Interpol business, Detective." Edgeworth watches Juniper and her wolves. They are sitting quietly, Juniper slightly in front of the other two, but it's clear that Newman is beginning to get restless, the wolf's front paws dancing lightly in front of it.

"Right. Got it." Nodding, Gumshoe levers himself back to his feet. "Looks like they're from two different houses, huh? Apollo and his little sun, and then those three?"

Edgeworth blinks.

Puffing his chest out, evidently proud of his deductive work, Gumshoe grins. "Like I said, I know a bit about dogs. That pretty little gray-brown one, he's—"

"She, actually." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Edgeworth studies the wolves. "That one's female."

"Oh, sorry, couldn't tell with her sittin' like that. Anyway, she's watchin' Apollo all wary-like, and those two are watchin' her while Sunny here follows Apollo. Easy to figure out, see?" Gumshoe pats the top of Apollo's head.

"Very nice work, detective." Edgeworth wills Apollo's ears to stand back upright. "Does it have a practical application?"

"Well, it means we should probably feed them separate, to keep the chances of them fightin' to a minimum. Actually, we should probably get everyone their own bowl, just in case someone's food aggressive."

"Right. Bowls." Edgeworth winces, trying to think of what tableware he has that will survive those jaws. "I... don't suppose mixing bowls would work?"

"That should be fine." Gumshoe frowns down at the cooler. "You're sure Agent Lang said to feed it to them raw? There can be nasty stuff in raw meat, y'know, and I wouldn't want to make dogs sick, 'specially if they're important to a case."

"They'll be fine, detective. I'm sure the agent knows what he's doing." Patting Gumshoe on the shoulder, Edgeworth heads towards the kitchen. "I'm going to acquire five bowls. Are you comfortable keeping an eye on the... dogs until I get back?"

"Sure!" Gumshoe smiles happily, scratching Klavier behind the ears again when Klavier shoves his head up against Gumshoe's hand.

Edgeworth pauses in the doorway. "You'll be careful not to get bit, detective? I don't believe any of these have their rabies vaccines, and I'd hate to have to euthanize one of Lang's... dogs."

Gumshoe salutes. "I'll be extra careful, sir. Though you know that's not legal, them not bein'—"

"It's being taken care of, Detective." Turning back to the kitchen, Edgeworth hopes that Gumshoe's curiosity will be satisfied with wondering what Lang is up to and not extend into asking more difficult questions that Edgeworth may not have an answer for.

XXX

The wolves devour the raw meat, their teeth flashing white again and again as they tear strips off and gulp them down.

The prosecutor who's providing them with shelter for the night probably isn't going to be too happy with the state of his floors when they're finally done eating. Though the detective who brought the meat was smart enough to lay down tarps beneath the bowls, and to feed the two packs on different sides of the room, the tarps aren't quite up to handling the shenanigans that the wolves get up to. Sometime between Klavier dropping a hunk of ribs next to Apollo with a proud wave of his tail, as though he did something more impressive than pick the slab out of his bowl and carry it to Apollo's side, and Robin deciding that she likes the chicken in Hugh's bowl more than the chicken in her own, the tarps ended up slightly shredded.

"That's all right." Clay sits cross-legged against one of the living room walls, where he is out of the way of traffic. He should probably be used to people walking through him by now, after weeks of following Apollo around, but he still finds it disturbing, and tries to avoid it when he's able. "We know some pretty good tricks for getting bloodstains out of fabric and carpet, huh?"

Apollo looks up from where he is wrestling with Klavier, the two wolves rolling along the ground in a way that some would probably find aggressive. Clay knows Apollo when he's being aggressive, though, and even if the wolf has ears and a tail instead of little hair antenna and a stubborn scowl, Clay can always tell a friendly Apollo from an angry one.

"You've left bloodstains on how many things over the years?" Clay smiles, the expression feeling crooked and slightly out of place on his face. "Not so much since you became a real lawyer, actually. I guess once you knew what the possible fines were for brawling in the streets like a superhero, it became less appealing."

Apollo has always been fierce. Apollo has always been unapologetic in his pursuit of justice, his defense of the innocent, never mind his size, and Clay has helped hold ice to throbbing injuries more times than he can count on both hands over the years.

He couldn't do that right now, though. Not that Apollo is likely to need it—the wolves seem to heal quickly from any minor injuries—but it's strange, to know that _he_ can touch Apollo, when they are like this, but that he couldn't do anything _for_ Apollo besides that.

It's almost like being alive again, having Apollo as a werewolf. It's almost like being _real_ , and something _hurts_ in Clay's chest as he holds Apollo's gaze, their eyes staying locked for seconds that seem to drag on and on. Is it dangerous, doing this? Will the wolf that lives inside Apollo eventually decide that what Clay is doing is threatening, and attack him? Nothing that Clay has done so far seems to have triggered anything other than eager excitement in Apollo, but Clay is far too aware of how quickly that could change.

What would happen, if a werewolf attacked him? What would happen if a werewolf _hurt_ him? Can ghosts be hurt? Can ghosts be destroyed?

 _Be careful,_ the man who flickers in and out of being behind Miles Edgeworth had told him, two weeks ago. _Don't destroy yourself trying to help him; he wouldn't thank you for that sacrifice._

 _Take your time to mourn, and then let go._ The woman who drifts behind Phoenix Wright when he is in court whispered the words to Clay a week ago, her touch ice-wind against his shoulder, the most firm and real thing he had felt since he died. _The world is theirs now, not ours._

 _Do what you need to. Whatever that is._ The woman in the kimono, the one who sometimes follow Athena, sometimes the Twisted Samurai prosecutor, hadn't reached out to him. She had barely seemed to see him, all of her attention focused on the people she is haunting. Guarding. Following. Loving, above all else, drawn to the fire-warm threads that still tie them to those they loved and those who loved them, and Clay finds that both his hands are pressed tight to his chest, covering a wound that isn't there.

The dead appear as they expect to. It is one thing Clay has learned, in his brief interactions with other ghosts, when they are both visible to each other even if no one else seems aware of their presence. He will not bleed unless he expects to bleed—or unless someone _else_ expects him to bleed, and he had to leave his own funeral, the ghost-blood alternately pouring down his chest and willed away too much for him to take.

A cold nose presses itself against his hands, and Clay looks up into an unexpected set of eyes.

Blinking, Clay summons up a smaller smile for the female wolf. "Hi, Ms. Woods."

Juniper studies him, her eyes bright with intelligence and compassion. Then she very gently reaches out and takes his uniform sleeve between her teeth, tugging him forward.

Tugging him toward Apollo, who is watching Clay, his head held low but his ears pricked forward. Nervous, excited, happy and scared at the same time, and Clay can't help but grin as he shakes his head. "You're a mess, Pollywag. You know that, right?"

Apollo's ears pin themselves back to his skull, and he lifts his head, eyes narrowing in indignation. His tongue lolls out, cleaning most of the blood from around his muzzle.

Juniper tugs harder on Clay's sleeve, urging him closer and closer to the other wolves.

"What?" Clay studies the gray-brown wolf. "I don't understand what—"

Then Apollo's bulk crashes into him, and they both tumble to the floor, Apollo's tongue scouring over his face again and again.

"Gross!" Clay is laughing as he shoves Apollo's face away, though. "Apollo, you know where that tongue has been recently?"

Said tongue slips out from between sharp white teeth, tickling against Clay's fingers, and there is a very familiar smug look touching Apollo's eyes as he waits for Clay's reaction.

Clay hesitates, not sure how far to take this. Remembering boiling blood, and silver lightning playing over skin, and a blond wolf lunging for him with intent to hurt, the image superimposed over a blond prosecutor, both of them _burning_ —

Juniper's nose presses against his neck, and she whuffs out a clearly-exasperated exclamation that Clay doesn't understand.

Klavier's blond wolf moves up hesitantly by Apollo's side, lifting his right fore-paw in what Clay would say was an invitation to play in any other canine.

Moving slowly, solid warm muscles bunching and relaxing under Clay's hand—and he can _touch_ Apollo right now, he can _feel_ him, it's almost like they're both _alive_ again—Apollo buries his nose in the hollow of Clay's throat, where Clay can feel a non-existent pulse pounding giddily. Apollo's tongue slides out again, caressing over Clay's breastbone, and Clay can feel the press of Apollo's teeth but they are very clearly not a threat.

 _Trust me,_ Apollo's eyes say.

 _Play with us,_ Klavier's wolf seems to beg, shifting to lift his other front paw and wave it frantically at Clay.

"All right, buddy." Clay grins, blinking back tears. "Though I've got to warn you, ghosts can cheat pretty hard at hide and seek."

Apollo's mouth hangs open again in a canine laugh, and Clay hugs his best friend tight to him, burying his face in Apollo's fur and breathing in the scent for several long seconds before he unceremoniously dumps Apollo on the floor and takes off running.

XXX

The moon sings, and their blood sings with her.

They play, with each other, with Clay, with their shadows, darting about the house as quickly as they can, making maximum use of a very limited space.

There are others scattered throughout the area, people who smell of the sun and of pack, and Apollo makes sure to greet them all at least once, though most seem unaware of what the night means.

Can they really not feel it? Can Trucy not taste the call of the moon on her tongue, the sweetest sugar ever spun? Can Athena not hear it, in their voices at least if not with her own ears?

Perhaps she can. If they hear it, though, they don't want to sing along. They chastise him and Klavier and Juniper and the others for singing, Trucy and Athena gesturing frantically and whispering time and again that now isn't the place, now isn't the time.

Apollo huffs out a disgruntled protest each time, but he acquiesces.

There is very little to be truly upset about, after all. They have food, and though it is cold, it is filling and delivered without even a modicum of effort needed to hunt it down, and that's good. They have company—Klavier stays by his side, and Clay is never far, and Apollo finds he likes tussling with Juniper's pack, likes watching Klavier play with them, likes watching them play with Klavier, though he and Juniper very pointedly don't fight each other. This truce that they've woven might not survive a tussle, even one meant in friendship, and Apollo knows that he shouldn't challenge Juniper. Her pack is hers; his is his.

That's enough, for the wolf. They are safe and warm and alive and the moon is full, and though he would like to run, he doesn't need to anger his friends to do so, not when he can chase Clay around the sofa while Clay cheats by phasing through it.

The part of him that is still fully aware of what he is, of what he will be in the morning, is slightly less certain that everything is all right, but there is still plenty of room for enjoyment. He feels _fine_ , better than he has in weeks. Klavier is _alive—_ not just alive but _happy._ Everyone important already knows that he's a werewolf, so there's no reason for Apollo to worry about having to tell anyone.

So Apollo resists the most dangerous of his instincts—doesn't jump for a window, doesn't prowl around the door looking for an exit. He focuses the wolf's energy on what is right next to them, and he revels in the wolf's surety and power, and when finally they bed down to rest, the five wolves and Clay all mingled together, he thinks that perhaps it hasn't been such a bad night after all.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Morning Sun

_Chapter Nine: The Morning Sun_

Apollo wakes feeling absolutely amazing.

It's a familiar feeling, one that brings with it a wave of deja vu, and he squints up at a ceiling that doesn't seem quite right. His ceiling is a pale, plain white; this one has a swirling design worked into what is an almost blindingly bright reflection of all the visible wavelengths of color.

The phrase is one that Clay would use, when they were younger and Clay was still learning about spectrums and how they related to stars, and with the phrase comes knowledge.

Clay is dead.

Except Clay is a ghost.

And Apollo knows that because Apollo is a werewolf, and the ceiling up above is not familiar because it is not _his_ ceiling, but rather Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth's. At least it is if nothing unexpected happened last night, like their packs deciding to go eat a neighbor.

They didn't. Apollo's memories of the night are jumbled and unfamiliar, almost like a memory of a memory, but from what he recalls they just played about the house. Ate—and he is _really_ glad, abruptly, that the memories aren't clearer. Chased each other and Clay's ghost, and Apollo can feel his fingers and jaw clenching, instincts rearing up again despite the pale sunlight reaching in the window to caress his face. Perhaps it will be best to think about what the lingering feeling of _pack_ means when he's had a chance to eat and dress.

When he's disentangled himself from the knot of naked people that he is apparently in the center of.

Apollo lifts his head, studying the scene he's embedded in with a growing feeling of dismay. On the plus side, he's now almost entirely certain they didn't do anything terrible like eat the neighbors or the neighbors' pets last night. On the minus side, there is a very naked Klavier Gavin sprawled with his head on Apollo's stomach, and an equally naked Juniper Woods with her head on Apollo's chest; Hugh and Robin apparently decided that Juniper was a better pillow than Apollo, Robin draped awkwardly over Juniper's lower back, Hugh using one of Juniper's thighs as a pillow.

While Apollo is still trying to decide if he should just bolt upright and make a run for it or try to surreptitiously wake everyone, Juniper opens her eyes and smiles at him.

"Ah..." Apollo clears his throat, his tongue seeming to stumble over words. "Good morning?"

"It is." Juniper stretches, her arms above her head, her back arching. The movement apparently jolts Robin and Hugh into wakefulness, and they begin stirring and stretching themselves. "That wasn't a perfect full moon, but it was still pretty glorious."

"It was something." Apollo averts his eyes from Juniper as she sits up, trying not to shiver at the loss of the body heat and the physical contact against him. His left hand has begun moving, without his permission, and his fingers have almost made contact with Klavier's head when he stops himself. This is awkward enough as it is; he doesn't need to start _petting_ Klavier, too. "Prosecutor Gavin?"

A shift of the body that's still atop him, a half-hearted moan, and Apollo winces. Given the state Klavier had been in right before they became wolves, probably best to avoid calling him Gavin, at least until he knows Klavier's all right. "Klavier?"

A low, questioning noise, and Klavier raises his head off Apollo's stomach, blue eyes blinking uncertainly.

Now that Klavier's weight has been lifted off him, too, Apollo decides to try to regain as much dignity as he can. His clothes unfortunately aren't within easy reach, their wolves apparently having decided to bed down in the living room, but he can at least not leave himself quite so exposed.

Klavier watches him, head tilted just slightly, a smile playing about the man's lips. Placing both hand palm-down on the ground, he stretches, his body arching in a very canine way. His hair flies about his head, more disheveled than Apollo ever imagined he'd see it, but the general air that he gives off is healthy and playful.

It's a step up from burning blood and roiling skin, but there's still something not quite... _right_ about it. Not quite _Klavier_ , or... Klavier without a lot of the ticks and trauma that make him... _him_.

"Klavier?" Leaning forward, Apollo tries to catch and hold Klavier's gaze.

He probably should have seen the lunge coming. It's rather difficult to hide intent to commit actions when one isn't wearing clothes. In his defense, Apollo is fairly certain there wasn't much time between when the thought entered Klavier's head and when he acted on it, and he's also fairly certain staring at Klavier's hips and center of mass while the man is naked would be... disrespectful.

So Apollo is unprepared for the leap, and Klavier's mass sends them both sprawling onto the floor, the well-cared-for wood squeaking slightly in protest.

" _Gavin!_ " A combination of exasperation and censure fills Apollo's voice, and he immediately strives to reverse their positions, with himself on top of Klavier.

Klavier doesn't fight him, burying his nose in Apollo's hair and inhaling deeply.

"Prosecutor Gavin!" There is suppressed laughter in Juniper's voice as her hand reaches out to grab Klavier's shoulder.

Apollo snaps at her fingers, a growl rumbling low in his throat. Klavier is _his_ , and... and...

And he is naked, holding a blinking, confused Klavier tight to his chest while Juniper and her two wolves fall into a defensive arrangement in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Apollo." Juniper doesn't lower her head, but she does avert her eyes to the left. "Tonight's the last night of the full moon. Today should be better than yesterday, especially since you'll recognize what's happening, but your wolf will still be quite ascendant."

"For... all of us, _ja_?" Klavier's voice is hoarse, his German accent thick. His body is warm and relaxed against Apollo's, though.

Juniper nods. "For all of us. We can start working on meditation techniques this morning, if you'd like, to try to make it easier to avoid being moon-drunk. And our wolves played hard last night, so it shouldn't be too bad."

"So far..." Klavier huffs out a breath, the air warm against Apollo's skin. His chest shakes under Apollo's hand, and after a moment Apollo realizes that Klavier is laughing near-silently. "So far it has not been so bad."

Shoving Klavier away from him, feeling his face turn bright red, Apollo scowls at the blond man.

If Klavier notices, he certainly doesn't seem to care. The man is busy studying his hands as though they're the strangest thing he's ever seen, moving each digit carefully. When he finally raises his head, apparently noticing Apollo's scrutiny, he smiles, a genuine, happy expression.

Well. This is good, at least. Klavier being sane and alive is _very_ good, and they'll figure out the rest of it once they've taken care of other business.

"Oh, good, you're awake!" Trucy grins over the top of a stack of clothes as she bounds into the room. She is wearing a set of dark blue pajamas, her feet in little cat-headed slippers. "You guys were _so cute_ last night. It was absolutely _wonderful_ , getting to play with you and watch you play. But Uncle Edgeworth says it's time to get everyone looking civilized. So..."

Trucy walks around the room, distributing clothes. Robin, Hugh, and Juniper's clothes look like they've been washed and neatly pressed. Klavier is handed a new polo shirt, this time white rather than one of the varying shades of magenta that seem to predominate about the house, and his pants; Apollo gratefully accepts the same set of old clothes that he was wearing yesterday, though he's a bit perturbed to see that someone apparently ironed the sweatpants.

Trucy smiles apologetically to Apollo when he accepts the clothes, though Apollo is really just grateful to see them. "We'll go get you some of your own clothes while you guys sort out the whole werewolf thing. But in the meantime, there are two showers—one just past your room, Klavier, and then one in the master bedroom that Uncle Edgeworth has said werewolves can use provided you agree to clean any fur out of the shower drain. He prefers his werewolves without blood on them."

Apollo glances around the room. Are those bloodstains still, showing sometimes under Klavier's hair? Even if they aren't, a shower sounds absolutely heavenly right now. Though a shower will mean leaving Klavier alone with—

With Juniper and her pack, who are trying to _help_ them, and Apollo presses one thumb to the center of his forehead. He and Klavier are _definitely_ going to have to talk about this.

"Uncle Edgeworth and I have been making breakfast, so as soon as you're done showering, come into the kitchen and I'll make sure you're well fed!"

Apollo's stomach growls, hunger similar to what he felt yesterday morning suddenly making itself known. Trucy grins at him, looking far too eager and pleased with herself.

"Right." Once again Apollo tries to keep his face from turning bright red. "Trucy, why don't you show Klavier down to the master suite's bathroom?"

Neither Trucy nor Klavier complain, and Apollo is grateful to see a little bit more of Klavier and a bit less of the wolf in the way the prosecutor trails after Trucy, his clothes held strategically but his tone light as he asks the young woman where everyone else is.

Resisting the urge to sigh in relief, Apollo turns to Juniper. "Ms. Woods, did you—"

"Go shower, Apollo." Juniper has shrugged into her shirt, at least, and the other two members of her pack are also busily donning clothing. "We'll trade off when you and Klavier are done."

Hugh makes a face. "Though given the way Gavin likes to dress and style his hair, that may be a small eternity."

Robin pokes him in the side with one armless sleeve of her blouse as she struggles into it. "Since _you're_ the one among us who spends the most time on his looks, you don't get to tease others about it."

Not wanting to get caught up in discussions of hygiene, Apollo retreats back toward the bathroom. The idea of a warm shower right now—of something decidedly _human—_ has never appealed to him so much.

XXX

Klavier stands with his face turned up to the hot water, his hands massaging through his hair, rinsing the last of the shampoo away.

The heat is glorious; the feel of the water as it trickles over his body is glorious; _everything_ is glorious, right now.

It's a feeling he recognizes, though he's done nothing to earn it. Usually he would feel like this after he finished recording a song, when he could finally say that something he crafted was _done_ , was ready to be released out into the wilds of the world. Often he would feel like this after winning a court case, when he fought hard and fought well, winning his conviction and impressing the gallery both.

He still feels it, sometimes, after a trial has gone well, though not so often as he did before the Misham case. Right now even thoughts of the Misham trial do nothing to dull the bright, fizzing happiness spiraling out through his body with every beat of his heart, snapping and crackling across his thoughts, and that is how he knows the feeling is at least partially false. Or... to say it is false is to do a disservice to himself, he supposes. At least partially _chemical_ , then, a change in the neurotransmitters flittering around between neurons, but at least it is a much more pleasant experience than what happened yesterday.

 _Werewolfism—apparently a close relative to bipolar disorder. Not recommended for artists, those with PTSD, or those with ghosts of any kind in their past._ Klavier finishes rinsing his hair and braces his hands against the wall in front of him, continuing to stand with the hot water pounding against his body. The feel of the drops against skin that is still too-sensitive helps him feel _human_ , helps keep him from feeling dizzy when he looks down and sees exactly how high up six feet puts a person.

He can handle those quirks, though. He can _think_ again, today, can remember a linear order of events, doesn't have to dig and strain after every connection between points of time.

He's _alive_ , when he very well may not have been, and the world is _beautiful_ , and though he knows enough to watch himself—to try to keep himself from doing anything _too_ embarrassing—he is also going to revel in this feeling while he can.

Klavier grants himself another five minutes in the shower, during which he scrubs his body over and over again with the least-overwhelmingly-scented wash that he can find, eradicating any trace of blood and sweat from his skin. Then he gives himself one final rinse and carefully steps out of the shower, using a hand against an object to balance himself the whole time. Slipping into his pants takes a lot longer than usual, his skin overly sensitive to the rub of the material, and he has to wait until he is slightly less damp or risk falling over.

They are _his_ pants and underwear, though, the scent not completely washed away by whoever cleaned and ironed them, and he appreciates that. As much as he respects and likes the chief prosecutor, it's good to have something familiar, as well.

"Best to keep track of who we are, _ja_?" Klavier smiles at the man in the mirror, resisting a strange urge to howl, joy dancing through his veins, a drug too pure for money to buy. Brushing his hair out, wincing as tangles catch and reluctantly release, Klavier admires his reflection. He looks _good_ , his color healthy and warm even under the bright bathroom lights, his eyes sharp and twinkling when he smiles.

Sliding his borrowed white polo shirt on, Klavier spends a moment just breathing in the comforting scent of the Chief Prosecutor, enjoying the feel of something clean and soft against his skin. Then he gives his head a shake, reminding himself to _focus_ , and runs the brush through his hair once more. He tries to blow-dry his hair, but the sound and scent of the machine both grate against him too much, and he decides to instead let it air-dry.

Gathering the blond strands back in a simple ponytail, he uses a girl's butterfly barrette that he found amidst a carefully organized stack in one of the drawers next to the sink to hold it in place. The shirt is a size too big for him, but a few adjustments and his damp hair hung over his left shoulder makes him look comfortable and classy rather than like a child playing dress-up.

"Prosecutor Gavin!" The knock at the door is sharp and fast, the female voice that accompanies it hovering somewhere around embarrassment.

"Yes, _Fraulein_ Psychologist?" Trucy had included a small resealable sandwich bag with all of his jewelry in his clothes pile, and Klavier slides on his necklace, tucking the chain down under his shirt. His rings feel strange against his fingers, too slick and cool, and he spends a second just clenching and unclenching his hands, studying them.

"I need to get ready to go to the courthouse, and Junie stole the other bathroom as soon as Apollo was out, so if there's any way you could maybe hurry up...?"

"The door is unlocked, _fraulein_." Klavier hadn't wanted someone to have to break down the door in the event he needed assistance, however unlikely such an occurrence feels right now. "And I am decent. Go ahead and open it; I will be exiting in a moment."

The door slides open hesitantly as Klavier is busy fishing his earring from the little bag, and Athena's head pops in. "Hi. Sorry. Like I said, I wouldn't bother you but—"

"No worries. One must look their best in court." Klavier smiles, his fingers searching to find the small hole in his earlobe and slide the post of the silver loop home.

And searching, and searching. Frowning, Klavier leans closer to the mirror, angling his head so that he can see the smooth, unbroken skin of his ear clearly.

"Huh." Athena looks between the earring and his ear. "I think you may want to invest in some nice-looking clip-ons."

"I suspect you are right." Pocketing the earring, Klavier smiles ruefully, his fingers once more fiddling with the unbroken skin of his earlobe. Strange, to suddenly lose an attribute of himself that has been there for over a decade. "Or get very good at piercing my own ears."

"That's possible, too." Athena dumps a pile of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, and hairbrush on the counter in front of her. Her eyes flick to him, her expression becoming more uncertain, her voice tentative. "You sound... good today. Happy."

"I _feel_ good today." Smiling at the young woman, Klavier steps away from the sink, towards the bathroom door. Holding his arms out to the side, he grins. "I look good, I feel good, I _am_ good. I doubt I will feel this good for very long—I think at least part of it is the moon—but for now, I am quite content with how things are."

"Good." Athena smiles, her hands fiddling with her toothbrush. "And if you ever need to talk about anything..."

"I will let you know." Placing a hand to his heart, Klavier inclines his head. " _Danke_ , Athena Cykes. For all that you did yesterday, and for your kindness today."

"No problem." Her smile gives way to a broader grin, and the little robot on her chest flares bright green as Athena watches him. Picking up and responding to the joy in his voice? Perhaps. Or just relieved and happy because the dark uncertainty of yesterday has given way to a manageable if not perfect present. "You're one of us, Klavier. Team Truth and Justice has to stick together, yes?"

A wave of joy so intense it's almost painful flows out from Klavier's heart, and he takes a step forward without meaning to. Wanting to touch Athena, to nuzzle against her neck, to thank her for the kind words and the kind touch yesterday, and the phantom sensation of a tail waving behind him is the only thing that brings him up short.

Human. He is _human_ , and Athena would not appreciate him suddenly nuzzling up against her.

Athena's brows draw together. "Klavier? You all right?"

Klavier smiles ruefully, his right hand fiddling with his damp bangs. "I feel fine, and I think, with time and a chance to work this out, I _will_ be fine."

"You'll have plenty of time." Athena glances down at the watch sitting atop her pile of clothes. "Though speaking of time..."

"I am gone, I am gone!" Klavier laughs as he backs out the door. "Enjoy your shower, _fraulein_. And may the truth win out in court."

Athena is grinning when she shuts the door behind him, and Klavier closes his eyes, drawing a deep breath and trying to decide where he should go next, since bounding about the house on all fours is likely a poor choice.

The smell of something cooking wafts through the hallway on an errant air current, and Klavier's decision is instantly made. He's not usually a breakfast person, being a night owl by choice and vocation whenever his prosecuting schedule allowed for all of his adult life. Right now, though, breakfast sounds like the best option in the world.

"Klavier! Good morning part two." Trucy's tone is cheerful, though Klavier isn't a hundred percent certain how she identified him, as her eyes are fixed on the frying pan in front of her. Sometime during his shower she changed out of her pajamas, and she now stands in front of the stove, decked out in her usual magician's outfit but with an apron thrown over it. Dumping an omelet from the frying pan she's working at onto a plate, she adds two slices of bread and a handful of bacon from towering stacks at her side and turns to present the plate to Klavier. The apron is embroidered with a top hat and the words _Magic in the Kitchen_ , all in Trucy's favorite blue. "Here you go! Just the way you like it."

Using his finger to poke apart a piece of the omelet, Klavier arches one eyebrow. It _is_ just the way he likes it, though right now he's fairly certain he would eat _anything_. "How did you—"

"An interview you did, when you were touring with the Gavinners." Trucy grins, turning back to the oven. "If you're still hungry when that's gone, I can make you another."

"I appreciate the thought, and this looks amazing, but it's already more than I would usually eat for breakfast." It's more than he would eat most days, actually, though right now it is taking a supreme act of will not to start drooling or simply dive face-first into the meal. Human. He is human, and Trucy doesn't want to see him eating the meal she carefully made him as though he were a dog.

"Junie says that you'll be extra hungry today, because it's another full moon day. It takes a lot of energy to transform, and between the moon and learning how to control your transformation she says to just eat as much as you want, you'll burn it off. So go and _eat_ , silly." Making a shooing motion with her hands, Trucy picks up three eggs, spinning them around in a circle on her palm. "What to make for Junie and her people... I think I'm just going to scramble up some eggs for them, to start with. No one minds scrambled eggs."

Clearly having been dismissed, Klavier turns his attention to finding somewhere to sit and eat.

The obvious answer is to settle at the table, but Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth is already sitting there. An empty plate and a cup of tea sit on the table in front of him, a small smattering of bread crumbs the only proof that there was once food on the plate. He is already impeccably dressed for work, his suit free of wrinkles and wolf hair both. One leg is crossed over the other, a more relaxed posture than Klavier is used to seeing him in, but otherwise he could be transported unchanged to his desk at work and no one would be the wiser.

A newspaper is spread open in front of him, and there is a small frown on his face as he stares through his glasses at some article on an inner page. An article on how to cope with your subordinates unexpectedly becoming werewolves, perhaps? Klavier smiles, and takes a hesitant step toward the table.

" _Guten Morgen_ , Gavin." Edgeworth doesn't put the paper aside when he greets Klavier. "You seem to be looking well."

"I am feeling well, _Herr Katze_." Picking up a piece of toast, Klavier piles a portion of omelet onto it and begins tearing bites off with relish.

Edgeworth's eyes give the tiniest little roll at the nickname, and Klavier can feel a grin pulling at his mouth again. While he has nothing but respect for the man who has been his boss for well over a year now, sometimes it's nice to do what he can to help Edgeworth relax a little bit.

"There is silverware, Gavin. Ms. Woods says that silver isn't toxic to you unless ingested or otherwise inserted past the skin barrier, so no need to be wary." Edgeworth pushes a beautifully-wrapped set towards him, the edges of the cloth napkins all monogrammed with a stylized _M.E._ , and Klavier looks down at his plate and his egg-covered hands.

"Sorry." Licking his fingers clean, Klavier unrolls the napkin.

"It's all right." Folding the paper, Edgeworth settles it in the center of the table. "If I understand properly, there will be a period of... adjustment... during which time usual habits may be... less habitual. If eating rapidly and with your hands is the worst offense given, I think we will all be happy."

"True enough." Looking down at his plate, Klavier is surprised to see over half of the omelet already gone, as well as both slices of toast. Hopefully Juniper is right about them burning calories rapidly around the full moon, because he's still starving. "If I remember correctly, you personally took over my case yesterday?"

"I did." A tiny smile touches Edgeworth's mouth. "And before you ask, no, you can't assist me today. I want you to stay here and learn all that you can as quickly as you can about handling your new... condition."

Klavier raises both eyebrows now, amused at the way Edgeworth dances around naming the problem. He supposes there are only so many people who can comfortably say the word _werewolf_ when referring to the person in front of them, though. " _Danke_ , Herr Katze. For giving us a place to go yesterday, and for... handling this all very well."

"It's not the first strange incident I've encountered." Edgeworth grimaces. "And it likely won't be the last. We'll have to find somewhere else for you and Mr. Justice to transform on later full moons, especially given your penchant for singing and my dislike of sleeping with earplugs in unless absolutely necessary, but it worked well enough as a stop-gap measure."

"We can probably use my place." The rest of the food on Klavier's plate has mysteriously disappeared, and he spends a moment meticulously licking his fingers clean again, relishing the taste. It is apparently a good thing his and Daryan's flirtation with the vegan lifestyle lasted all of forty-eight hours, because between his flashes of memory of the wolf's appetite last night and his reaction to foods today, he suspects the diet would not have survived this new twist in his life path. "I designed my house so that my band could practice as loudly as we want without worrying about the neighbors, and I have space. Plus, a rock star is supposed to be eccentric and have eccentric pets, _ja_?"

"I suppose it's one possibility, if Justice doesn't mind." Edgeworth's index finger taps against the table. "Not for tonight, though. I want both of you here where we can watch over you still tonight. Plus I have a guest coming here who will hopefully be able to help with... all of this."

Klavier sits up a bit straighter. "A guest?"

"You're not the first werewolves I've known." A slight twist of his mouth at the word _werewolves_ , though Edgeworth is studying Klavier evenly, without the slightest hint of censure or anger. Uncomfortable with the situation, but not with those involved, and Klavier forces his hands to latch onto the edge of the table.

He will not bound forward and press himself to Edgeworth, nuzzling the other man's neck. He will be reasonable and respectable and _human_. "Anyone that I may know?"

Edgeworth considers for a moment. "I'll allow my guest to introduce himself, with whatever information he sees fit to share. He's a well-respected and very dominant werewolf, though, and if anyone should be able to help you and Mr. Justice clear up the situation with the local alphas, it will be him. I'll call and let you know when he's coming in."

"I'm eager to meet him." Leaning back in his chair, Klavier looks around the kitchen. "Though speaking of Herr Forehead..."

"He's in the living room again, practicing trying to see Clay." Trucy dumps another omelet onto Klavier's plate. "Junie and her two wolves are still in the bathroom; Athena's in your bathroom, though she already ate and she's going to have to run if she wants to make it to the courthouse in time. Daddy's still sleeping, because it took him until about two thirty to accept that Uncle Edgeworth was right and wearing earplugs and trying to ignore you guys was the better part of valor when it came to sleep."

A yawn twists and slows the last of Trucy's words, and she covers it with her free hand as she sets the frying pan back on the stove.

Klavier has already eaten half of his omelet, though he swallows the mouthful he is on rather guiltily. "Were we really that annoying last night?"

"Nah." Coming to stand beside his chair, Trucy pats him on the shoulder, grinning once more. "You guys were really cute and awesome, actually. I wanted to play with you more, but Daddy and Uncle Edgeworth insisted I have to wait until you've got better control. Your wolf does like to sing, though, and even though you'd stop when we asked you to, you didn't seem to remember for more than twenty minutes at a time that you weren't supposed to be howling."

Edgeworth sighs. "Hopefully that's something that will improve with time and practice."

"Or perhaps I will need to enter a new genre of music. I hear that beautiful things can be done with wolf howls accompanying other instruments." Grinning, Klavier shoves his plate away from himself, so that he isn't tempted to bend down and lick it and to prevent Trucy from adding a refill that he would almost certainly eat. "I can even credit my wolf. Perhaps I should call him Gitarre?"

Edgeworth's eyes narrow, and Klavier laughs, his toes curling as he forcibly curbs any other physical responses to the energy and ecstasy glittering through his veins again.

Shaking his head, Edgeworth picks up the paper again. "Go find Justice, Gavin. I'm sure the two of you have a great deal to talk about."

That's true. Plus Klavier _wants_ to be with Apollo, to make sure his alpha—

Pressing two fingers to his forehead, Klavier draws a shaky breath, euphoria temporarily pushed aside.

Yes, he and Apollo _definitely_ need to talk.

Standing, Klavier smiles at Trucy. "Thank you for the meal, Fraulein Magician. You are an amazing lifesaver."

Trucy grins, her head ducking down shyly as she returns to the stove to continue cooking. "It's no problem. I'm just glad to help. And don't worry about the case, you _or_ Apollo. Me and Athena and Uncle Edgeworth will take care of it."

"I trust the three of you to do just that." Patting the girl on the shoulder—inhaling a mouthful of her scent, and it is beautiful, full of spice and surety and something else that is terribly familiar, that he thinks he's smelled before off someone else—Klavier heads toward the door into the living room.

He and Apollo apparently have all day to figure out more about being werewolves, but it's likely best they discuss at least this one issue sooner rather than later.

XXX

Apollo closes his eyes, drawing slow, even breaths in through his mouth. It's slightly less distracting to breathe through his mouth than through his nose, though scents seem to be enhanced either way. Not that he is paying attention to the scents right now—to the soft plant-and-dog mixture that is Juniper, to the clay-and-fire that is Robin, to the oil-and-books-and-sweat that is Hugh, to the wire-and-ink smell that is _Klavier_ , is _his—_

 _There_.

Apollo tries to ignore the thoughts that had been cascading through his head, to pretend he doesn't understand what they are and what they mean as he latches on to the power that rose with them. His blood tingles, a shiver of fire along all his veins, but he isn't going to allow himself to transform. Not _all_ of him, at least, and he tries to picture the fire concentrating itself in his eyes, in his ears.

Moonlight seems to play behind his eyelids, silver sparks of lightning, and he opens them tentatively.

"Apollo?" Clay is sitting cross-legged in front of him, upper body tilting first to the right and then to the left. "Are you managing it?"

"I can hear you." Apollo's voice is hoarse, and he almost loses his grasp on the power, Clay's image flickering in and out of focus. Lunging after the power, Apollo finds himself having to grit his teeth, his right hand clutching onto his bracelet as he desperately pictures his human form. He wants to _talk_ , and if they're going to talk he needs to—

"Can you still see me?" One of Clay's hands waves back and forth in front of Apollo's face.

Apollo resists the urge to bite the appendage, giving a nod, a smile breaking across his face. He's _doing_ it. It will hopefully get easier, with practice, with more training from Juniper, but he's only been a werewolf for forty-eight hours and he's already—

"What about now?" A wicked grin flicks across Clay's face, and he raises his hands to either side of his head, waggling his fingers. "Am I a deer? An alien?" The smile widens, and Clay begins making more and more contorted faces. "A Lovecraftian monster from the depths of the universe, come to—"

He tries not to, but Apollo can't quite keep from laughing, and the laughter shatters his fragile control on his power.

He doesn't fall into his wolf form, though. The sun is bright where it pounds through the window behind him, and Apollo holds on to the feel of it against his neck, the way it warms the back of his shirt, and he keeps his human shape.

Once he's stopped laughing, Apollo glares out at the room that looks empty. He can't see or hear Clay at the moment, but he has little doubt that Clay can see and hear him. "That's cheating, you know. Trying to make me laugh. Also not very helpful."

"Perhaps he just likes the look on your face when you laugh."

Apollo hadn't heard anyone else come into the room, and he turns to the door with a snarl that is much more... _snarly_ than it would have been two days ago.

Klavier's eyes flick to the side, but he doesn't back away, doesn't lower his head. His hands are shoved into his pockets, his borrowed clothes somehow looking comfortable and cozy on him, where Apollo's look silly.

Schooling his expression back into neutrality, Apollo scrambles to his feet. "Sorry. Didn't notice you coming in."

"That's all right. I was quiet." Klavier smiles, his usual bright grin, though his eyes are more wary and considering as they study Apollo in tangential glances. "I hope I am not interrupting?"

"Nothing I can't try again later." Rubbing at his neck, Apollo resists the urge to rise up on his toes. This is good, him and Klavier standing here talking like normal humans. "Just trying to get a better handle on our gifts and what we can do. Because we can talk to ghosts, apparently."

Klavier is silent for several seconds, his blue eyes sweeping slowly over the room. They pause, a handful of times, and Apollo isn't sure if he's seeing anything or not. When Klavier speaks, his voice is low and thoughtful. "I think... I remember. From last night. Clay Terran, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Apollo nods, his throat tightening as it always does when he's discussing Clay. "I don't know how much you heard or were told or remember from yesterday but he's, uh... been following me around, apparently. He helped take care of me the night before last, and he helped keep me from doing anything more stupid after I bit you."

Silence hangs between them, thick, awkward, and Apollo finds himself fighting dual urges—to leap forward and press himself close to Klavier, to slink back with his tail between his legs. Neither is a particularly welcome feeling, or much like _him_ , and he finds his jaw clenching, anger rising to take the place of confusion and contradiction.

Which is the _last_ thing he needs, and he draws a shuddering breath, fire burning hot through his veins again. An ice-cold hand closes on his elbow, a frigid wind whispers _calm_ into his ear, and Apollo forces his tongue to work again. "I'm sorry. About yesterday."

Klavier tilts his head, a very canine gesture of uncertainty. "About... Changing me?"

Amongst other things, but that's a good place to start. "Yeah. I was confused. I didn't know what was happening, and the wolf... I'm sorry. I wouldn't have hurt you, if I had any control over it."

Klavier nods, his expression still pensive, thoughtful. "It wasn't something I did. It was just a situation where I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

They aren't questions. They're statements, more Klavier speaking to himself than to Apollo, but Apollo answers anyway. "I think I would have bitten anyone who touched me right then."

"I understand." A wry smile, a lifting of his right hand to toy with his damp bangs, and Klavier gives the briefest shrug as he studies Apollo more squarely. "Yesterday was miserable. I imagine it was even more horrifying and frightening for you, not knowing what was happening or why."

"It's really not something I'd like to go through again. But it's over." Apollo hesitates, then smiles himself. "We both made it through. We're both fine."

"Fine and better than fine." Smile widening, Klavier takes a step forward, his whole body seeming to become more vibrant as he approaches Apollo. "It was not such a bad night, when all was said and done."

 _Pack. Pack, pack, pack_ , Apollo's wolf howls with every beat of his heart, wanting to lunge forward and gather the other man into a protective embrace, but he has no right to ask that of Klavier—certainly no right to force it on him, after all that happened. "It... uh... it's definitely better than what comes before. The wolf..."

The wolf is an _idiot_ , a tense, fierce ball of _stupidity_ , and Apollo turns away from Klavier, takes a few steps sideways to increase the distance between them. He can't move backwards—the wolf won't allow retreat, and it's already lingering far too close to the surface, silver fire under his skin, barely constrained by the sunlight flooding the room.

Klavier doesn't follow him, for which Apollo is grateful, and Klavier's eyes stop meeting his, not challenging. When the prosecutor speaks, it's in a quiet, contemplative tone as he shoves both hands back in his pockets. " _Lebensbejahend_."

Apollo blinks. "Does that come in English?"

"Not really." Another smile, a soft laugh, and there is true joy in both, though still overlaid with a hesitance. "It is... I suppose the best translation would be _yes-life_. It is a feeling—the feeling you have when the beauty and the wonder in the world are overflowing, and you want to embrace them. It is that feeling when every atom of you wants to say yes to living. It is... a good feeling."

Too many tangled emotions lie over that last statement, emotions that Apollo can hear and smell and _taste_ in his mouth, grief and guilt and longing. Klavier's stance is still loose, though, his expression considering rather than caged, and so Apollo manages to stay where he is, wrapping his arms around his own chest in lieu of doing something more embarrassing.

"It's there. In the wolf. In the moon. I suspect it will fade, as the full moon fades, but it's a pleasant feeling. A _good_ feeling. One I am glad to have." Klavier's smile becomes more rueful. "Do you feel it, Herr Justice?"

He can. He's been trying to push it aside, along with everything else—it feels _wrong_ , to revel in simple existence, when his best friend's ghost is sitting in front of him. It feels _alien_ , after all that the last weeks have brought. Licking his lips, Apollo nods. "Yeah. I feel it."

"There are a great many feelings that come with being a _werwolf_ , I think." Klavier's hand buries itself in his hair, and his eyes once more lock on Apollo's. "But if that is the main one, the core of the moon-change, then they cannot be that bad, _ja_?"

Now there _is_ a question, a plea for reassurance, and Apollo gives as much as he can. "Juniper says it's still us. That even with the wolf instincts and the full moon and the change and everything, at the very basic level it's still our... souls, I guess. Our core. And... well... if it's _us_ , then we'll be fine."

Klavier grins, a silent laugh shivering its way along his frame again for a second. "You could never be anything other than fine, Herr Forehead."

Narrowing his eyes, Apollo decides he can forgive the nickname this time. He _did_ just turn the guy into a werewolf yesterday. Accidentally, but still. "Did you want to practice with me? Either the seeing ghosts, or just... turning into a wolf? It does get easier to control, the more you practice."

"While I appreciate your zeal, I think we should save the practice for when someone with a bit more experience is about. Just in case."

Klavier doesn't _say_ 'you've only been a werewolf for a day longer than me, idiot', but Apollo still finds himself blushing anyway.

"Besides." Rocking back on his heels, his bare toes curling, Klavier glances away from Apollo again. "There is... something else we should probably discuss."

Apollo winces, suspecting what's to come.

"Did Ms. Woods..." Klavier hesitates, his accent thickening. "Did she say anything about _packs_ , or about... hierarchy?"

Right.

Well, Apollo _had_ been thinking this is something they need to talk about. Better to face it head-on, right away, than let it continue to fester under the surface. "She did. Do you remember any of what you heard yesterday?"

"I remember..." Klavier frowns. "Actually, I remember very little in a comprehensible form. Something about werewolves needing to have packs of at least three...?"

"That's one of the rules, yeah." Apollo nods, wondering if perhaps that's _all_ Klavier wants to clarify. Just talk about the rules, about what they have to do to survive, not about... well...

"What does it _mean_ , though?" Klavier takes a step forward. "Being pack—this... _feeling_ I have. What is it?"

"Werewolves don't like to be... alone." Forcing his feet to be _still_ , to stay in place instead of crowding up into Klavier's personal space, Apollo tries to slow his heart-rate. "The pack is made up of other werewolves. It's like... family and friends, I guess. People you trust."

"The people that you transform with each full moon, _ja_?" Another slow, hesitant step forward, and Klavier's eyes are fixed on Apollo. "But also... more."

Keeping his eyes to Klavier's right, on the sun rising higher in the sky, Apollo tries to sort all that he learned from Juniper during their conversations yesterday into something he can easily explain to the man in front of him. "There's a... bond, I guess. Between pack-mates. It's not anything big or fancy or that really impacts much under normal circumstances, but it's there. Just... defining who's in the pack and who isn't."

Klavier nods. "Definitions are important."

"And there's one person—werewolf—who's in charge of the pack. That's the alpha." It takes all of Apollo's self-control to stay still, to keep his voice from shaking. It's _silly_ , all of this is incredibly silly and not something he would have believed two days ago, but it's also _important_. It is _so_ important, and he wants to leap forward, to pounce on Klavier and beg him not to choose a different pack, but he can't do that. "The alpha makes sure everyone follows the rules—no biting people, no giving away the werewolf secrets—and takes care of the rest of the pack. Everyone's supposed to take care of those less dominant than them, that's what Juniper says."

A low, considering noise from Klavier, but he doesn't move forward, and Apollo is grateful for that.

"Also made wolves—wolves who were Changed after someone bit them—they're not supposed to be dominant." Running a hand back through his hair, Apollo resists the urge to whine or whimper. "Or at least, that's what those who are born werewolves believe. But neither of us is particularly submissive."

One of Klavier's eyebrows arches, and his voice is quietly entertained when he speaks. "Do they know what makes a person—a werewolf—dominant versus submissive?"

"Ah..." Sweat runs down the center of Apollo's back. "There were... a few things Juniper mentioned. How confident you are. How comfortable you are being in control and giving orders. How comfortable you are accepting someone's orders."

A prowling step to the side, a twist of Klavier's mouth that Apollo has seen in court before, when there is some part of a case Klavier finds particularly distasteful, and Klavier's voice is rough and growling when he finally speaks. "An alpha can force others in their pack to do things?"

"No." Shaking his head, Apollo struggles to push aside the silly brown wolf who wants to bound up, ears pressed flat, and insist _they_ didn't do anything like that. "Or... not from the way Juniper described it. An alpha can try to suggest things, and a submissive is likely to listen to them, but no one could make you do anything you don't want to do."

A flash of sky-blue eyes meeting his, and Klavier stands absolutely still, sunlight gleaming off his damp blond hair. "You didn't try to force me. Last night. Ms. Woods was going to, I think... or perhaps I was just worried about it? I don't know. But you didn't."

"I'd never try to force anyone in my pack to do something they didn't want to. Something they weren't comfortable with and certain of." _Especially not you_ , he doesn't say. It doesn't need to be said. He has seen Klavier acquire most of his scars, and he sees no reason to pick at them. "To me that just seems like it's asking for trouble."

"To me, as well." Klavier relaxes, a slow untensing of muscles that Apollo hadn't even noticed becoming stiff. It's an active process, Apollo thinks, a fight against what Klavier's body instinctively wants, but he does it. "If I were to be in a pack, I think that is the only type of alpha that I could have. One who would respect me and my choices, even if he didn't have to."

"Well, unless we want to start a werewolf revolution, I don't think we have much choice about getting a pack." Apollo tries to make the words gently teasing, but they come out too flat.

"Even if we were to start a werewolf revolution—and I will, if anyone tries to go after you or Ms. Woods or myself because of this little debacle—I do not think we would have a choice." Again Klavier makes direct eye contact, but his words are soft and almost apologetic when he speaks. "I have been thinking of you as pack since I first changed. As my alpha."

A soft canine noise of elation slips out of his mouth before Apollo can stop it, and his face heats immediately. He's just _glad_ , though—incredibly glad that Klavier has felt something similar to what he has, that Klavier _understands_ , and when combined with the fizzing silver lightning of the wolf in his blood the joy is almost too much to contain.

Klavier leaps forward at the sound, closing most of the distance between them; he stops before he actually touches Apollo, though, taking a very deliberate step back. "Given the rules about pack sizes, it may be easier if we find another solution. Join Juniper's pack, perhaps?"

Shaking his head, Apollo forces his tongue to form human words. "I can't. I'm too dominant. I'd probably end up alpha, and Robin and Hugh weren't too keen on that idea yesterday. You could, probably. I'm not sure where you stand dominance-wise in relation to her. So... that's an option."

"Many options. Many possibilities." Klavier's hand reaches out, his fingers very gently closing around Apollo's. "But if you don't mind... I am happy to be in a pack with you."

He doesn't mean to. He _intends_ to just stand where he is, to maybe squeeze Klavier's fingers and make an off-hand comment about how this is going to make facing off in court more interesting.

Instead Apollo ends up tackling Klavier to the floor, his chin rubbing against Klavier's neck, his shoulder, his cheek, mingling their scents, announcing to anyone who wants to know that they are _pack_.

Scrambling backwards off Klavier once he realizes what he's doing, Apollo buries his face in his hands. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I'm sorry."

Klavier is laughing as he sits up and strokes his hair back into a semblance of order, the laugh a full, pleased sound. "No need to apologize, Herr Forehead. Gitarre is happy to be in Sonne's pack, too."

"Gitarre?" Apollo trips over the pronunciation of the German word, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You didn't... you named your werewolf form _guitar_ , didn't you?"

Klavier's grin just widens. "Fitting, don't you think?"

"You're unbelievable sometimes. You know that, right?" Rubbing at his neck, Apollo thinks over the rest of the sentence. "What's... the one you called me?"

" _Sonne_." Gesturing to the window, Klavier shrugs. "Sun. It seems fitting, given your name."

"Uh uh. My werewolf form is not having a German name. I'm not sure it's even good for us, giving the wolf a different name. Juniper and her pack don't seem to have done that." Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest. "But _if_ I was going to do that, I'd name him something like..."

 _Sol_ , a voice whispers in his ear.

"Sol." Apollo blurts out.

Klavier laughs again. "I assume you are going for the Latin name of our sun, yes? Well, that also happens to be the name of the Sun's personification in Germanic mythologies, so I will accept it."

A quick glance around the area they are sitting in shows no simple projectile weapons other than shoes, and given that Apollo isn't a hundred percent certain Klavier wouldn't start chewing on a shoe if he threw it at him, Apollo refrains. "How do you possibly know _anything_ about Germanic mythology? What does that even _mean_?"

"Germanic mythology is Norse, German, and all the other assorted and related myths from that area. Though in a broader sense it means that as a singer I did sometimes try to incorporate symbology other than legal puns into my songs. And that there was an online course over the summer of my junior year that gave me a credit I needed to get my degree so I could take the bar and also taught me a great deal about mythologies of the world." Klavier's smile is smaller, now, full of fond reminiscence. "Sol is a good name for you, though. I can come to terms with it."

Apollo rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, too, soft joy falling like flickering firelight across his thoughts at the idea of Klavier being in his pack.

Smile fading a bit, Klavier toys with the end of his ponytail. "It won't affect us in court, will it? This... thing. Being pack."

Apollo forces himself to really think about the answer, to analyze how he acted yesterday instead of just trying to reassure Klavier. "I don't know. I'm not going to try to use us being werewolves to force you to throw a case or anything, if that's what you mean. Or try to get you to stop defending a theory. That's not how it works—not how we work. And not the kind of alpha I want to be."

Klavier's toes curl again as he smiles at Apollo, and he begins inching his way across the space between them in the most unsurreptitious attempt at surreptitiousness Apollo has ever seen.

"But..." Apollo chews on his bottom lip. "It was... intense, being in court. I mean, it usually is. It _should_ be, deciding someone's life or death. But I really, really wanted to beat you, and, uh... well, there's a reason you got to meet Sol where you did."

Klavier finally inches to a stop next to Apollo, both of them sitting with their arms wrapped loosely around their knees, Apollo facing the window with the sun, Klavier the front door. "It's going to be a struggle for us, finding the balance between the wolf and the man when we are trying to be human predators."

"We're not predators." Apollo gives Klavier's shoulder a gentle shove. "We're just trying to find the truth, to make sure innocent people don't go to jail and guilty people don't get away with murder. But... yeah, probably we shouldn't face off in court for a while."

"Probably neither of us should be in court until we're certain we will be able to handle it." Sighing, Klavier leans to the side, his head coming to rest on Apollo's shoulder. "Hopefully that will not be a very long time."

"Hopefully." Apollo frowns, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. "My job's important to me."

"I know." Klavier's voice is soft, and his head burrows in closer to Apollo's neck.

Klavier would, Apollo thinks. Klavier had buried himself in his work after everything with Kristoph, just as Apollo has buried himself in his work now. Maybe it's not the best way to handle grief, but it's certainly productive, and it's a better way than some. Besides, Apollo thinks it's one that Clay would approve of.

Perhaps he should ask Clay, next time he manages to have a conversation with him.

"Oh man." Apollo sighs, leaning his head against Klavier's as he laughs. He's not sure it's actually _funny_ , anything that's happening, but the laughter feels good, so he lets it bubble up and over. "Our lives are so super weird."

"They are." Klavier hums a handful of notes, his breath warm against the back of Apollo's neck. "But this doesn't seem to be a bad weird, at least. And... I'm glad it was you."

Apollo goes still and quiet.

"You're a good friend, Apollo Justice. I... trust you, more than I can trust most people now." Klavier's whole body is pressed against Apollo's side now, his right hand fisted in Apollo's borrowed sweatshirt, but it feels _right_. It feels _comfortable_ , pack at his side, and Apollo leans into the contact as Klavier continues. "I don't think I would have survived last night, if you were not there. And I don't think there are many people I could accept as my alpha. But you... you I am all right with."

"I'm glad. Glad you survived and glad you're all right with this and..." Apollo blinks, surprised to find that he is shaking, that tears are threatening. Silly, when everything's worked out about as well as it possibly could. "I'm sorry, again. About biting you."

"It was not your fault. Don't worry about it anymore, _Sternchen_." Again Klavier hums a handful of notes, so softly Apollo doubts anyone else would be able to hear. "We will get through this together."

"We will." Apollo draws a deep breath, gathering the silver fire in his blood together again, blinking his watering eyes until they focus.

Clay is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, a few feet in front of Apollo. The sun strikes him full-on, but he casts no shadow, his smile sad and wistful as he watches them.

 _I'm fine_ , Apollo mouths but doesn't say, his eyes catching and holding Clay's, willing him to understand the question.

Clay grins. "Of course you are, Pollywog."

Apollo runs his tongue over his lips, his breath shuddering in his throat, not sure how to make the question more obvious.

He sees the moment Clay understands. It is a raising of Clay's head, a flicking of Clay's gaze from Apollo to Klavier, a faltering of his smile followed by a sadder, more thoughtful one. "Go for it, 'Pollo. I'd rather you use it than not."

His head pressed to Klavier's, his eyes fixed on Clay, Apollo draws another shaking breath. "We'll get through this. Because _you're_ fine."

Apollo can feel the moment Klavier understands, a tightening of Klavier's hand where it is still holding his shirt, a hitch to Klavier's breathing. When Klavier answers, his voice is hoarse but clear. " _You're_ fine."

"We're _fine_!" Apollo and Clay shout the word; Klavier doesn't scream, but he does speak it in unison with them.

Apollo almost changes, after. The wolf dances on the edge of his control, a warm, welcoming fire that would salve away at least some of the pain in the immediacy of the moment, in the touch of Clay's hands in his fur.

Klavier holds him in his human form, Klavier's arms both wrapping around him, Klavier's voice whispering phrases in a mangle of English and German that Apollo doesn't quite understand.

"We're fine." Apollo pants out the words when he can trust his tongue again.

" _Ja_." Klavier smiles, his head nuzzling against Apollo's shoulder and neck, the scent of wolf strong around them both, and Apollo suddenly isn't sure who's helping who stay human.

Juniper's quiet voice comes from the edge of the hallway, filled with confidence despite the soft volume. "You will both be fine. You're already doing incredibly well, considering... how this all started."

Apollo straightens, considering pulling away from Klavier, but he's _comfortable_ where he is.

Hugh steps up at Juniper's left hand, pressing his glasses up on his nose as he smirks at them. "Don't worry, Justice. It's just pack instincts."

"Oh?" Klavier raises both eyebrows, his tone light. "But this is how I always greet the defense. Doesn't it make you look forward to passing the bar, Herr Spectacle?"

Hugh's face reddens, and Robin bursts out laughing, skipping past her alpha and towards them. "I like that as a nickname for you, Hugh. Does this mean you two are really super officially pack now?"

The young woman's grin is apparently infectious, because Klavier is wearing a very similar one as he studies Apollo. "Until he kicks me out for being my usual dazzling self, _ja_?"

"Which may be in five minutes, at this rate." Apollo plants his chin on Klavier's shoulder, studying the other wolves from that vantage point. He feels more... relaxed, now. As though something important has been decided, some stress taken off his shoulders, and it's far too easy to just relax against Klavier and bask in the sunlight while moon-fire sparks and simmers just under his skin.

Juniper takes a step into the room, her eyes staying just to the side of Apollo, carefully not challenging. "Would you two be interested in learning some meditation techniques? To help you handle the moon-power better?"

"I am." Apollo straightens. "You?"

Klavier nods. "The sooner we learn to handle this, the sooner we can go back to our lives."

Their two packs arrange themselves around the living room, Juniper facing Apollo, and they settle down to the boring details involved in making sure everything turns out fine.


	11. Chapter Ten: Focus

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the lack of update last week. Real life has been kind of crazy and miserable for the last two weeks. Between that and breaking in a new computer, I just didn't have a chance to get a chapter up. Thanks for everyone's patience!

 _Chapter Ten: Focus_

Klavier is rather terrible at meditation.

He could have told them that before they started trying it, really. Meditation is one of many, many things that has been recommended to help artists with their craft, and Klavier has dallied with most all of the suggestions that aren't outright illegal over the course of his career. Being still and emptying his head have never been things he is particularly good at, though, and having a very happy wolf dancing silver rainbows through his bloodstream doesn't help.

Apollo seems to be doing decently at it, even if he's frowning in a way that Klavier is fairly certain one isn't supposed to when meditating. Then again, if someone can force their way to a place of peace and calm through sheer stubborn determination, it will be Justice.

Klavier just barely restrains himself from jumping on Apollo. While Apollo would likely understand and forgive the impulse, there's no valid reason for him to interrupt Apollo—not when he knows how important it is to Apollo to be able to control their gifts.

To be able to see Clay, to talk to the friend who has stayed by his side even after death, and the manic glee flittering under Klavier's skin dies back just a little. What would it be like, to have the ghosts that dog you be those of friends who _care_ that much?

Maudlin or manic, no room for anything in between, and his hands are moving restlessly, fiddling with instruments that aren't there. Not that he's fit to write a song right now. Though it's a very _different_ kind of incoherence from what he suffered through yesterday, there's a sizzling slipperiness to his thoughts right now, one seeming to come atop the other, and writing a coherent melody line or lyrics like this would be impossible.

Just as trying a court case like this would be impossible, and he is impressed by Apollo's ability to make it as long as he did yesterday. Would Klavier have been able to manage that?

 _Will_ he be able to manage it, when he can't even seem to sit still long enough to learn the techniques that are supposed to help him maintain his humanity?

 _Yes_ , the silver lightning howls in his head, _yes yes yes_ , joy refusing to back down to fear or depression, and Klavier stands abruptly. He isn't going to be able to do this, not right now, and if he keeps trying he's going to end up transforming. He can already feel the change itching fire-hot in his joints, urging him to stop thinking and just _feel_.

Which could be a dangerous drug all on its own, really, if he isn't careful. Do they ever lose werewolves to their wolf side? Do people ever Change with the full moon and then just not change back, the simplicity and clarity of the wolf preferable?

Not that he would choose that. Not _now_ , certainly, and he doesn't think there is anything left in the world that could drive him to that point. Though those are dangerous thoughts, thoughts that urge the universe to see what it can do to break your fortitude, and—

"Prosecutor Gavin?" Juniper has followed him on his weaving, jittering path through the house, stands just behind him as Klavier stares out the back door at Miles Edgeworth's beautifully cultivated yard.

" _Ja_ , Fraulein?" Turning to the young woman, Klavier smiles, feeling more grounded already just having someone to talk to. The house is rather empty currently, Trucy, Athena, Wright, and Edgeworth all having left for the courthouse some time ago. "Though please, feel free to call me Klavier. I think that we have been through enough at this point that the formality isn't needed."

"Whatever makes you more comfortable." Juniper's hands are clasped together in front of her stomach, a loose, relaxed posture. "Was the meditation not helping?"

Klavier shrugs. "I have never been much for meditation. Instead of slowing my thoughts, it seems to make them want to move faster."

"That's all right. There's lots of different ways you can go about trying to keep the energy under control, so if meditating isn't for you, we'll try something else." Juniper smiles encouragingly. "Plus this is your first day as a werewolf. Even if you were a master meditator, I doubt you'd do very well right now."

Pointing back towards the living room, Klavier allows his weight to settle against the door. He wishes the sun were at his back, but it's still stubbornly rising in the east, illuminating the windows in the kitchen but not touching the back door. "Apollo seems to be doing quite well."

"Apollo's special." Juniper's cheeks flush, just the faintest hint of color, and her scent changes subtly. "Plus he had a more... normal transformation. You're actually doing really well, being as... human and coherent as you are right now."

"Well, I cannot disappoint an audience." Fiddling with his bangs, Klavier smiles again at the woman, surprised at the ease he feels around her. Though perhaps he shouldn't be—he liked Juniper well enough when he worked with her at Themis. She is an intelligent, bright, _moral_ girl, holding out hope for honesty and impartiality even in the depths of the Dark Age of the Law, and Klavier had done his best to reassure her that she is _right_ in those feelings, in his own way. To salve his own grief over Constance Courte's death by helping her new hand-picked student heal; to show Juniper that getting caught up unknowingly in a corruption scandal didn't have to define or mark her.

"Something's bothering you." Juniper's hands separate, though she doesn't quite reach for him. They are not pack, after all, though they are... close to it, allied packs, and Gitarre would not mind her comforting them, if there was need of it. "Something about... all this?"

" _Ja_." Klavier raises his shoulders again in a half-shrug. "And _nein_. There is a restlessness from the wolf, that is making it hard to sit still. And the usual fears one faces at an unexpected juncture in life. But you and your pack are going into the legal profession; Justice is not one to quit. So I am sure we'll find solutions to any problems that arise."

"We will." Juniper nods, expression and posture both confident, and a part of Klavier wants to believe her. Wants to simply accept what she says, and cast off any doubts, but he can't _do_ that.

His lip rises in a half-snarl without his intending it to, but he doesn't stop the action or the sound. "Don't do that. Don't try to force me to be... to be anything."

"I'm sorry." Shrinking back, her head held low, Juniper drops her gaze to the floor. "I didn't mean to—it was just instinctive. Part of being an alpha is caring for those more submissive than you. And I _do_ believe everything will be fine."

"That is good." Klavier tries to speak lightly, but the wolf is itching at his control again, his spark of anger turned to a torrent of fire under his skin. "I do, too. It is nicer to know that _I_ believe it, though, rather than that somebody _wants_ me to believe it."

"I promise, I won't try anything like that again." Voice full of earnest candor, Juniper flicks her eyes up to meet his again and then deliberately down. "I'm not sure I even could force something on you if I tried with all my might. You're about the same dominance level as me."

Good to know, Klavier supposes, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest, humming quietly as he tries to get his hands to stop shaking, his vision to stop fading out into the wolf's more dilute hues.

"It's all right to Change, if you need to." Juniper keeps her eyes downcast. "No one here will care, and it _does_ help drain some of the energy."

"If I have to." Huffing out a breath, Klavier rolls his head on his neck. "I would prefer to practice transformation because I _wish_ to, though, not because I cannot control myself appropriately."

"You're..." Juniper sighs, and there is a slight smile on her face as she shakes her head. "You're just as stubborn as Apollo, aren't you? Just... in a very different way."

Klavier smiles. "I appreciate the compliment, but there are very few people as ram-stubborn as Herr Forehead. I have my own brand of _Sturheit_ , though, I will admit."

"It's good, for someone in your position." Taking a step to the side, Juniper puts her back to the wall, her eyes rising to look past Klavier. "You've got to have a certain brand of determination if you're going to make it through our current legal system with any sense of morality."

"To make it in any legal system." It's easier to stay human, the longer they talk, and Klavier releases a slow breath, feeling some of the heat fade from his joints. "It takes strength to face the darkness and try to shine light into it. Strength to look for truth. No matter what job you take, be it a prosecutor or a judge or a detective or a defense attorney, it will require a heart of steel."

"Not too much steel, though." Again Juniper's eyes flick to him, considering, carefully not challenging. "Too much steel and you lose sight of what's important."

"True." Klavier rolls the word over slowly. "There must be blood still, or it is not a heart and you are not human. A difficult balancing act, but an important one."

"Is it helping?" Juniper studies her hands. "Talking, is it... making you feel better? More in control?"

Klavier nods. "It is."

"Then... would you mind if I apologized?" Drawing her flower forward, Juniper buries her nose in it.

Eyebrows arching in surprise, Klavier studies the young woman. "For what, Fraulein?"

"For yesterday. For trying to force you, if I did at all. I just wanted you to be all right." Juniper draws a shuddering breath. "You're such an amazing prosecutor—Professor Courte talked about your cases a lot. I've studied pretty much all of them. And you've got a beautiful singing voice, and the idea that I could have been responsible for hurting you... for hurting Apollo..."

"It's all right, _Sonnenblume_." Klavier moves without thinking, his hand landing on Juniper's shoulder, his body pressing into her personal space.

She leans closer to him, though, her head resting against his chest. "And I'm sorry that this happened period. I shouldn't ever have made a mistake like I did. And I promise I'll make it as right as I can."

"You already have." Rubbing his head against hers, Klavier can't help inhaling her scent, picking it apart as he has started to do with everyone else's. Not that he _understands_ most of what he smells, but it's a fascinating exercise, and he finds that he likes Juniper's scent. "You've taken care of me and Apollo. You're teaching us. You're planning on handling our introduction to the rest of the werewolves. You've no need for guilt, _Blumchen_. None at all."

"That's what Apollo said, too." Juniper's voice is a quiet, husky whisper. "The two of you are so _nice_. I just... I'm so grateful, you have no idea, and I promise that everything will be okay."

"It will be." Klavier smiles, and there is nothing dragging down the joy anymore as he offers comfort to the young woman. They are alive; they are good people; they are _fine_ , even if things are complicated.

Gently disentangling herself from his arms, Juniper smiles up at him, a blush on her face once more. "Thank you. Is there... can I help with anything else? Any questions you have about you and Apollo and being pack?"

"No." Klavier smiles ruefully, toying with the end of his ponytail again. "I understand _that_ quite well just on instinct, I think. It is not so very different from how our relationship was before, anyway. Just... more physical than it used to be. And more singing. I have much better luck getting Sol to sing with me than I have had getting Apollo to sing with me."

"Sol?" Juniper's eyes crinkle in puzzlement.

"Apollo's wolf." Klavier shrugs. "Something we came up with this morning."

"Hm." Juniper tilts her head to the side, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "That's not something we usually do, naming our wolves. If it helps the two of you, then that's fine, I guess, but be careful to remember that it's not _actually_ a different personality or anything like that. And probably you should avoid talking about your wolves in the third person when you're around wolves who _aren't_ familiar with you."

"Duly noted." Klavier lounges back against the door, right hand in his pocket, left still playing with his hair. "Was it tomorrow that we get to meet these other werewolves?"

"Tomorrow." Juniper pales, and the scent of fear leaches out into the air, subtle but unmistakeable. "When Prosecutor Edgeworth's friend is here and the moon won't be quite so... distracting a problem."

"A problem for tomorrow, then." Cuffing the young woman lightly on the shoulder, Klavier offers her a smile. "And one you won't be facing alone. How many quick-tongued legal professionals do you have on your side?"

" _I'm_ supposed to be a quick-tongued legal professional. In a few months, at least." Juniper's hands run over her braids.

"You will be. No one who wrote a script as gripping as yours could fail to be anything but clever and bardic with their words."

Shaking her head, Juniper returns his smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere, you know. We're not even in the same pack."

"Oh?" Klavier arches an eyebrow. "And are romantic affairs always relegated to between pack-mates?"

"Well... no." Juniper's head drops, but it is a human rather than a canine move. "Especially during the mating season—that's in autumn, don't worry, long time before we have to talk about that—it's pretty much any two wolves who want to be involved can be, unless their packs are fighting or something. But for most long-term relationships, it tends to be between pack-mates. Not always, though."

"Important things to know." Klavier studies the young woman, noting the way her blush deepens as she talks about inter-pack relationships, the hope that sighs out into her voice. "Have you told Apollo about these issues yet?"

"No." Juniper turns bright red, her hands fumbling for something that isn't there. Knitting without yarn or needles, Klavier realizes a moment later, as his hands reach for instruments that are far away when he needs to be doing something with his fingers. "Maybe you can tell him."

" _Ja_ , I can." Leaning toward the young woman, Klavier ponders the best way to confirm his suspicion, and decides dancing around the issue when the moon still sings in both their veins is unlikely to work well. "Do you have someone that you're interested in? Someone in another pack, perhaps?"

If Juniper's face turns any redder, she will be in danger of spontaneously combusting. "I—I—why would you think that?"

"Ach, fraulein, it is nothing to be so embarrassed about." Leaning closer to her, Klavier studies the room over her shoulder and the hallway beyond, ensuring they won't be interrupted. Then he pitches his voice low, trying to make sure no one else would be able to hear even if they were to come in. "Herr Justice is a remarkable man. I am surprised he doesn't have more people clamoring after him."

"I-I'm not..." Squeezing her eyes shut, face still bright red, Juniper heaves a heavy sigh. "Well... maybe I have a _little_ bit of a crush on him."

"Just a small one?" Leaning back against the door, Klavier holds two fingers a hair's breadth apart.

"He's just... he's..." Juniper's blush fades, her eyes opening and her hands flailing about in front of her in a gesture that is very comprehensible even if it wouldn't be repeatable.

"He is." Klavier smiles, left hand rising to toy with the end of his ponytail again. "He is clever. Handsome. Kind. Full of fire and determination. Truly dedicated to justice, but also... aware of what the cost of justice can be, quite personally."

Juniper is staring at him, her mouth slightly open, her fingers frozen together in front of her.

"What?" Glancing around the kitchen, Klavier confirms that they're alone still.

Shaking her head, Juniper moves her eyes to the floor, mumbling out her response so quietly even his newly-improved hearing can't pick it up.

Klavier leans closer to the young woman. "Fraulein, I can't—"

"You've got a crush on him, too." Juniper raises her head so quickly they almost collide.

Blinking, Klavier shakes his head. " _Nein_. I—"

"You did just listen to yourself, didn't you?" Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Juniper adopts the expression of someone presenting conclusive evidence. "Plus it's in your scent. Subtle, but there when you talk about him. Affection. Arousal."

Well, so much for the blushing girl with the crush. "I'm not sure what you're smelling, _fraulein_ , but I..."

Juniper arches one eyebrow.

Lowering his eyes to the floor, Klavier frowns. "I care about Herr Justice. A great deal. He's one of the few people that I am comfortable trusting, now. And I respect him, for all that he has done, for how he has handled the last two years. And he _is_ handsome, in the way that a small tiger who may decide to eat your face at any moment is handsome. And to confirm a bit of tabloid reporting you may or may not have seen over the years, I _am_ unashamedly bisexual."

A slight smile from Juniper, a brightening of her eyes, and there is almost as much joy as strain in her laugh. "I find it hard to imagine you being ashamed about much of anything."

"You would be surprised, _fraulein_." Allowing his eyes to drift away from the young woman again, Klavier searches for the right words to express his feelings. Searches to _define_ his feelings for Apollo, in a way he hasn't done before, to reach beneath the bubbling rightness of _pack_ and see if there is something more there. Or... something _different_ , because he's not sure there could be more. "I was not... in a very good place to be thinking about romance, last year. It would not have been fair to myself or anyone else I was involving. I wanted his respect and his friendship, and count myself lucky to have been gifted with both. Do I love Apollo? _Ja._ Do I want to sleep with him? It... would probably not be hard to convince myself that I do. But I am content to be his friend. To be his pack. Especially since now... now Apollo is facing a darkness of his own."

"I know." Juniper's hands twine together in front of her chest, her smile becoming more rueful. "Between everything with the Phantom and now everything with this... a romance is probably the last thing Apollo wants."

 _And with me least of all_ , Klavier can hear underlying the actual words said, and he steps forward, nuzzling his head against the side of hers. "No guilt, _Sonnenblume_. You would have as good a shot at Apollo's affections as anyone, I think, when he is ready for such a thing."

"Maybe." Juniper nuzzles against him in turn, her voice thick with emotion. "I'd at least like to be his friend, if nothing else."

"You are Athena's good friend. You are teaching us about being _werwolfe_. You are our friend, have no fear." Stroking a hand over Juniper's hair, Klavier finds himself humming absentmindedly again and forces himself to stop. "How long have you had this crush, _Blumchen_?"

A mumbled reply, but Klavier manages to make out _October_ , and he can't quite keep from sighing. "And has he seemed to notice at all?"

Pulling back a bit, Juniper shakes her head.

"No, I suspect he would not. For all his good traits, he can sometimes miss anything that is not spelled out explicitly via skywriting." Lifting her chin gently with one hand, Klavier meets her eyes for a moment before they both end up looking away, their wolves uncomfortable. "When we are more settled with this, and he has had his chance to grieve, and it seems he is ready... would you like my help getting him to notice your feelings?"

A squeak, a flaring of heat again in her cheeks, and Juniper shakes her head. "That's fine. It's all right. He may have noticed, anyway, and he's just ignoring it because he's not interested. I mean, he might be gay. Or asexual. Or just not think I'm pretty. Or not want to be with a werewolf—"

"He might be one or a combination of those things. But he also may just have a skull like a block of concrete, and need help getting certain ideas through it and into his brain." Threading his fingers through his belt loops, Klavier smiles at the young woman in front of him. _Werwolf_ , yes, but also very human, and any lingering fears he has about his own human status vanish as he and Gitarre both relish the thought of finding Apollo a proper mate. Of making Apollo _happy—_ of doing something for their pack-mate that Klavier suspects he is very bad at doing for himself. "I won't force anything on you, of course. I will consider this conversation confidential, even, if you wish. But people can only act on what they know, and sometimes they will only know what you are upfront about telling them."

"I'll think about it." The fingers of Juniper's right hand toy with her flower, pulling it around so that she can sniff it. "Though I'm... a little concerned what _kind_ of help you'd give."

Klavier can't resist grinning, and he turns up his accent to the thickest he can make it while still being comprehensible. German isn't as good for this as a French accent would be, but it will suffice. "Only the best help, _Blumchen_ , from someone with a bit of... experience."

Juniper covers her face with her hands, laughing. "Stop teasing me, Klavier."

"As you wish." Giving the most gallant bow that he can while pressed up against the door, Klavier laughs. "Keep what I said in mind, though. I am happy to help any time I—"

Klavier's phone interrupts him, an acoustic guitar version of the Steel Samurai theme song that he recorded for charity last year ringing out to fill the room. Without looking at the screen, Klavier answers. " _Hallo,_ Herr Katze."

"Gavin." Edgeworth's tone seems quietly approving, and Klavier can feel himself straightening, his toes curling again in joy. "Can I take it as a good sign that you're still human and carrying all your accoutrements?"

"Well, Ms. Woods seems not to have given up hope about us yet." Klavier winks at the young woman in front of him. "To what do we owe the pleasure? Something with the case, or—?"

"My guest has just arrived in the country. He's currently in the process of renting a car, and should be arriving at the house in approximately fifty minutes. Given... everything." Edgeworth's voice falters just slightly, and Klavier can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, deep furrows etched into his brow. "I thought it likely best to warn all of you, so there's no... misunderstanding or altercations."

"I thank you for the warning, and will pass it along." Klavier holds up a finger to a clearly curious Juniper, trying to indicate he'll tell her in a moment. "Anything else we should know?"

"Not that I can tell you. Best of luck with the rest of your training today, and I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight." Klavier nods, though he knows Edgeworth can't see him. " _Bis dann_ then, Herr Katze. Best of luck with the case."

"It's not luck I need, it's the world to start making logical sense again." Edgeworth's growl disappears into a sigh. " _Schonen Tag_ , Gavin. Try not to eat anyone until I see you next."

A dial tone interrupts before Klavier can get another repartee in, and he returns his phone to his back pocket. "Our mysterious foreign alpha will be here in forty-five minutes or so. Our esteemed host requests we don't get blood all over the living room, and has thus seen fit to give us fair warning."

"Probably best. Given how jittery you are about anyone trying to use alpha suggestion on you and Apollo being a new alpha who would most likely not take you feeling threatened well... definitely a very good idea." Taking his hand hesitantly in hers, Juniper nods her head back towards where the others are. "Shall we go warn everyone?"

Tightening his fingers around hers, Klavier smiles. "Let's."

His blood is still singing just beneath his skin, but as they make the trek back through the house to Apollo and the others, Klavier somehow feels just a little bit more in control than he had before, ready to take on whatever comes their way.

XXX

The werewolf rings the doorbell.

Apollo supposes this shouldn't surprise him. _He_ would ring the doorbell, after all. It's what most people would do, especially when confronted with a house the size and style of Miles Edgeworth's. Maybe some people would knock—Detective Gumshoe would probably knock—but most people would take a look around the house, and immediately look for a doorbell.

He just hadn't thought that a European werewolf who is an 'alpha of alphas', whatever _that_ means, would ring the doorbell.

Then again, he wouldn't have expected the Chief Prosecutor's doorbell to sound suspiciously like a chiming version of the Jammin' Ninja theme, so expectations and reality are apparently just not aligning today.

Juniper answers the door. She walks confidently, her head high, her steps certain, and Apollo finds himself straightening, as well. Drawing slow, shallow breaths in through his mouth, he tries to keep himself calm. To remember the feeling that he had during meditation, the moon-power concentrated and _controlled_ under his skin, not roiling wildly. Whoever is on the other side of that door is a friend, someone who is going out of their way to help him and Klavier.

Once she's opened the door, Juniper returns to her pack, backing slowly into position between them.

The man who comes in is slightly disheveled, with the hard, weary look of someone who has seen one too many airports in the last twenty-four hours. There is a tense _alertness_ about him, though, a grace and prowling surety to his motion, that leave Apollo in no doubt as to what he is.

Not that he would be able to doubt even with his eyes closed. He can _smell_ wolf rolling off the other man, a thick, cloying scent of strength and power, and the little hairs on his neck and shoulders immediately stand on end. Clamping his mouth shut, Apollo forces himself to stay quiet. He is _not_ growling at the man who came to help them, not when his only crime is walking in the door.

Flinging a backpack down on the floor, the man raises a ridiculously complicated pair of sunglasses off his eyes, brown gaze flashing over and inventorying their little group.

"Agent Lang." Klavier is standing just behind Apollo, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"Piano pup!" A toothy smile splits Lang's face as his eyes fix on Klavier. "Well, that explains the level of concern in Mister Prosecutor's voice. Not only were two people unknowingly Changed, one of them's from his own personal pack."

"I am fairly certain Herr Katze would cringe to hear you refer to the Prosecutor's Office as his personal pack." Klavier's body is tense beside Apollo, but there's a certain exasperated fondness in his voice as he studies the new werewolf. "It is an illogical thing, for a cat to have a pack."

"Cats collect things all the time. Bottle caps. Plush toys. Decapitated bird bodies. Why not collect people?" Hanging the ridiculous glasses off his rather revealing vest, Lang places his hands on his hips. Giving Lang's clothes a second perusal, Apollo finds his eyebrows drawing in. Apparently werewolf agents have an even harder time dealing with buttons than Klavier does, because Lang's shirt is open practically to his navel. Lang's smile is as sharp as his teeth when he continues. "Besides, I didn't say the Prosecutor's Office, I said his pack. There's a significant overlap between the two, but it's more a Venn diagram than concentric circles."

Klavier's head drops, and Apollo could swear the prosecutor _blushes_ , a definite darkening of his cheeks.

"Are you..." Juniper takes a step towards the newcomer. Her body posture is still rigid, but she sounds more eager and enthused than nervous. "You're Shi-Long Lang, aren't you?"

Lang grins again. "The one and only."

Apollo looks between Lang and Juniper. "Do you know him because of the whole werewolf thing, or because of whatever the agent thing is?"

Robin bounces up on the balls of her feet, shoving her hand in the air. "Shi-Long Lang is one of the highest-ranked Interpol agents currently working!"

Klavier nods. "He and Prosecutor Edgeworth have worked together on several occasions. Usually those cases end up becoming both very interesting and very convoluted quite quickly."

Robin nods eagerly. "His career could make a fantastic movie series. Plus he's the staunchest proponent of a modified mass investigation and arrest strategy that's been spreading out from Zheng Fa through most of central Asia and into other countries."

Giving an approving nod and a half-grin to Robin, Lang rocks back on his heels. "Someone's been doing their homework."

Hugh sniffs, adjusting his glasses. Apollo suspects from the disgruntled look on his face that Hugh hadn't recognized Lang, either.

Juniper casts a fond smile at her pack-mate. "Plus Lang's a rather... famous werewolf. There have been very few wolves ever born with as strong a tendency toward dominance as he has. He's revolutionizing the way packs interact in Asia."

Apollo frowns, hackles that aren't really there still trying to stand on end. "Revolutionized how?"

Lang raises one hand, palm-up. "No need to be so defensive, pup. I'm not trying to take over the world or anything. I've just done something a little... unusual, bringing other alphas into my pack but not taking over _their_ packs. All done with full consent from all parties involved. Sort of like a... werewolf president, let's say."

"A werewolf president." Apollo nods, not entirely understanding but also not certain it's important. Here is someone who's managed to be successful on both the werewolf and the human fronts. Someone who can afford to book international flights at the drop of a hat. If that doesn't soothe away some fears for the future, nothing will. "And an Interpol agent."

"They're remarkably complementary roles, I've found." Lang studies Apollo, though he doesn't make eye contact, his shoulders back and loose. He's several inches taller than Apollo, but he isn't attempting to loom over him, his body language calm and non-threatening. "Once you get the hang of your gifts, there're things you'll be able to do that the bad guys won't expect."

"Provided, of course, we follow the rules that the _werwolfe_ have agreed on, _ja_?" Klavier arches an eyebrow. "I imagine that sometimes makes it difficult to find evidence that is admissible in court."

Lang shrugs, his head lowering as his gaze shifts to Klavier. "Just means you need people working with you who can help find the admissible evidence when you get them on the proper scent. That's not what we're here to talk about right now, though."

"No, it's not." Stepping forward, head raised, a slight tremor in her voice, Juniper stares up at the Interpol agent. "You seem to know Prosecutor Gavin; the defense attorney with him is Apollo Justice. I accidentally bit Apollo when we were in an exploding courtroom last month—"

Lang holds up a hand. "The Phantom affair. I know the bare bones of what happened. Prosecutor Edgeworth's given me a pretty good run-down so that I wouldn't be completely out of my depth when I got here. The big question is, what kind of path do we want to run going forward."

Closing her eyes, Juniper gives a tiny nod. "I'm going to call a summit of the local alphas tomorrow, after the moon's done, and present Apollo and Klavier to them."

"Brave of you." Lang paces forward, circling around Juniper and her pack.

"Not brave." Juniper shakes her head. "It's my duty, to let the others know what's happened. And it's only fair to Apollo and Klavier, that they know what they're a part of and what's expected of them."

"Lang Zi says the one who does their duty when less painful options exist is the one who is truly worthy of leading." Stopping in front of Juniper, Lang finally meets her eyes. "You're young, but you've got heart. I'll do what I can to help you."

Juniper's head drops, the first time Apollo has ever seen her look anything but confident and in control when talking with another werewolf. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Robin and Hugh press forward, their hands landing on Juniper's shoulders, their eyes not quite meeting Lang's as they give their alpha silent support.

"Easy there, pups." Taking a step back, Lang turns his head to the side, not challenging any of them. "I'm not going to challenge your alpha. Not when she's showing you what a good leader does."

Spinning on his heel, Lang fixes Apollo with spear-sharp brown eyes before deliberately looking away.

Forcing the snarl that had immediately sprung to his lips away, Apollo leans closer to Klavier, the taller man's heat a comforting presence against his side.

"You two've already decided to form a little pack, huh?" Rubbing his thumb along his jawline, Lang watches them closely. "Interesting. Could make things easier, provided we can find you a third; could make things harder than just settling into someone else's pack, you two trying to find your way without a born wolf to guide you."

"Better to get lost with someone you trust than to be led astray by someone you do not know." Klavier's voice is soft, but there's a slight tremble to the hand that rests on Apollo's shoulder, and his accent is thickening. "What would Lang Zhi think of that proverb?"

"I think he could get behind." Lang paces behind an invisible line on the living room floor, not coming closer, not challenging any more than he already has. "Though he might also find it sad, because it assumes that you're going to end up off the path either way."

"That's not always a bad thing." Apollo resists the urge to stand on tiptoe. Lang might be taller than him, but that doesn't mean anything. "Sometimes you find better ways when you forge your own path."

"Spoken like a true alpha." Lang grins, the same feral, half-predatory smile of approval that he gave Robin. "You're no slouch when it comes to dominance, piano pup, but you found yourself a real spitfire here."

"I think that was a compliment?" Klavier's fingers massage at Apollo's shoulder, his voice bemused. "If it was, I thank you."

"More a statement of fact than a compliment." Lang pauses in his pacing. "It's not a bad thing, being submissive. If everyone was a leader, who would be left to follow? It takes a strength of its own, being comfortable enough with someone else to take comfort from their reassurances, to take orders from them in the midst of fighting, to trust them with your heart and soul."

Apollo finds his breath catching in his throat, because he knows what Lang says is true. It is much harder to reach out for help than to expect no help to be available. It is much harder to trust than to suspect. It is much easier to try to keep a distance between yourself and the world, because everyone is only mortal and anyone could die on any given day.

"You don't trust people easily, do you, pup?"

The full force of Lang's attention is an almost physical presence, a prickling of Apollo's skin, a stirring of the fire in his veins.

Leaning just a little closer, Lang draws a slow breath in through his nose. "Justice. I remember that name from the Phantom case. Lang Zi says the scars of the past will always show in the fabric of the future."

Apollo glances at Klavier, but Klavier just shrugs. "Herr Wolfman likes to speak in proverbs, you will find."

Sighing, Lang crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not surprised, given what I know of your history and how you ended up Changing, that you ended up dominant. Piano pup's at about the maximum level of dominance most wolves would expect and thus be likely to accept from a made-wolf. You're going to disturb them, and what disturbs people tends to make them more likely to do stupid things."

Squaring his shoulders and lowering his head, Apollo lets an audible snarl rumble out. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt us because they don't like what we are."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Again that approving half-grin flits across Lang's face, and his eyes are wide with energy and excitement. "You are what you are; no need to be ashamed of it. I'm just glad Mr. Prosecutor decided to call me, because this is going to be an exciting meeting, and I want to do what I can to make sure it goes well."

"Would you interfere?" Klavier's hand has shifted to Apollo's other shoulder, Klavier's head resting against Apollo's. "If they were to decide to do something... foolish, would you—"

"Unless you guys are a danger to our community or to the people around you?" Lang shakes his head. "Lang Zhi says you bite a pup for bad behavior, not for the simple crime of existing. I'll make sure they remember their duty. Though if you don't mind... Apollo, I want to get an idea of exactly how dominant you are."

Apollo narrows his eyes. From the way Lang asks the question, he doubts the experience is going to be pleasant. "How? And why can't you just tell, the way you tell with Klavier?"

"Piano pup there is reacting like a normal wolf to my presence and your presence and Ms. Woods. A wolf who's about the same dominance level as Ms. Woods—still a little unstable, since you guys are so new, and he's... _bendable_ enough I bet he could either slot in above or below Woods if he wanted to be in her pack. _You_ , though..."

Apollo glances down at his hands, which are balled into fists; feels the tension still clamoring just beneath his skin, silver lightning ready to explode at the slightest provocation; and forces himself to draw a deep breath. "I'm... being weird?"

"You're..." Lang huffs out a breath. "I'm going to try an alpha suggestion on you. React however you feel you need to."

"Ri—"

Apollo doesn't a chance to finish the word before Lang's eyes lock with his, and any capacity to speak falls away in the wolf's angry howling denial.

"Sit." Lang doesn't bellow the word. He speaks in a tone that is softer in volume than his usual voice, but there is a steel-hard backbone to the word that wedges itself into Apollo's thoughts.

He won't. He doesn't _have_ to. He doesn't even _want_ to, doesn't want to follow this stranger's commands given on a whim, and—

Klavier's hand slips away from his shoulder, a soft whine sliding from his throat that is the closest Apollo has ever heard to a heart breaking, and Apollo leaps forward, fire exploding in all his joints.

Two sets of hands drag him down, one ice-cold, one burning hot, and he finds himself blinking at the ceiling.

 _Whoa there, pollywog!_ Clay's image jitters in and out of focus.

"Apollo, please, stay _human_ , _barchen_ , attacking our ally will not help, it's all right, _I'm_ all right, there is—" The quick patter of Klavier's words slows, and he stares down at Apollo from his vantage point perched atop Apollo's body. "Are you...?"

"I'm fine." Apollo can't quite bring himself to close his eyes, not knowing that Lang is still somewhere in the room with him, so instead he focuses on Klavier's hair, counting strands. Breath in, hold, breath out. Collect the wolf-fire that is frizzing along his veins, dancing in his joints, and urge it to wait, to hold until the moon rides high again tonight. "Just..."

"Just able to ratchet your dominance level up to at least as high as mine, if not higher." Lang is several feet away, from the sound of his voice. "Also a good alpha. Protective of your pack. And given that you're still human, with a degree of control that would put some born-wolves to shame."

Apollo doesn't think it's _entirely_ him who's to thank for his still being in human form, the feel of Clay's icy hand still burning against his chest, but he'll take the praise. "And... what does that _mean_? All of what you just said?"

"That we've got a lot to talk about." Lang's voice is closer, now, though Apollo doesn't quite dare turn to look for the man. "When you're feeling up to it."

Giving Klavier's shoulder a brief pat, Apollo indicates that he wants to stand up.

Klavier helps him into a standing position, and Apollo takes a moment to gather himself, to tell his mind that five feet really isn't _that_ high off the floor and two legs is a perfectly reasonable number, thank you very much.

Klavier stands with his hands on Apollo's shoulders, stabilizing him wordlessly. Juniper and her wolves have come up to form a half-circle around them, all waiting on Apollo.

"Well then." Turning to face Lang, Apollo lifts his head high in defiance. "Let's talk."


	12. Chapter Eleven: Bloodlines

_Chapter Eleven: Bloodlines_

Klavier guides Apollo to the kitchen table, acutely aware of the tension in Apollo's body still, the way Apollo's muscles jump and twitch under his hands. It wouldn't take much to send Apollo tumbling into his wolf form, and Klavier is fairly certain if Apollo changes, Klavier will too.

They haven't yet, though. Even when fire rolled over all Klavier's thoughts, urging him to _obey_ , to be _good_ , to _follow orders_ , he held on to his sanity and his human form. He kept _Apollo_ human, kept Apollo from attacking a man who is here as a personal favor to the Chief Prosecutor, and—

And he needs to not think about it anymore, because his hands are shaking, his muscles trying to tense and roil like Apollo's, and that will do no one any good.

Once Apollo is sitting, Klavier stalks to the kitchen counter, knowing better than to attempt to sit yet himself. Besides, there are things that he can do to help them hold on to their humanity a little tighter. Six mugs are easy to find, everything having already been washed and replaced after breakfast; Edgeworth's automatic kettle takes a little bit of fiddling, the settings different from Klavier's, but he gets it filled and the water heating.

Really, who could imagine becoming a wolf and attacking each other while sipping tea?

Turning back to the table, Klavier flashes Apollo a grin and receives a strained smile in return. Juniper and her pack are sitting around the table, too, all of them pointedly staring away from the other person still standing.

Lang doesn't approach the table or the counter, lounging against the doorjamb, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Gavin."

Klavier startles. He can't help it, the wolf still too close to the surface, his brother's voice declaring him a monster still too fresh in his memory.

A snarl instantly twists Apollo's features, and he leaps to his feet, leaning towards Lang on fisted hands.

Crossing to his alpha's side, Klavier places a hand on Apollo's shoulder, willing them both to be calm.

It isn't until Apollo turns to look at him, expression uncertain, that Klavier realizes he is singing to himself, soft nonsense syllables. Licking his lips, offering his alpha a rather rueful smile, Klavier shrugs and forces himself to stop.

Lang is still leaning in the doorway, not watching them, his eyes carefully trained on the back door and the sun-dappled yard.

After another moment or two of silence, Klavier decides nothing more is going to be said until he answers the man. "Agent Lang, it seems that you _are_ capable of remembering people's names when it suits you. I will have to let everyone at the office and the precinct know, they will be quite surprised."

A full-throated laugh, and Lang's lips turn up into a bright grin. "You're something else, pup. But I wanted to say I'm sorry. If I'd known how hard I'd have to press your alpha, I would have asked you to step out of the room."

Klavier considers the words before inclining his head. "I appreciate the thought. But I think I like better how things went. If my alpha is in danger, I want to be there."

"He wasn't in any danger." Lang straightens from his position, expression becoming fiercely serious as his eyes flick to Apollo. "I might not be the biggest fan of defense attorneys, but I've learned over the years that there're some good ones, and you seem like a good one, Firebolt."

"Fire..." Apollo groans, looking exasperated. "Please don't give them _more_ nicknames to work with, Clay and Klavier and Trucy are already insufferable."

Lang just grins again. "Ask your beta. I'm contractually obligated to do it."

"What contract?" Apollo raises an eyebrow. "I'm sure I can find a way to get it annulled."

Another deep, chuckling, honest laugh from Lang, and the kettle chooses that time to beep its readiness.

Klavier makes chamomile tea for everyone, from a box with individual bags that he finds behind a small armory of loose-leaf selections. Chamomile might be considered more of a bedtime or illness tea, but right now he wants something with no caffeine, the possibility of soothing tempers, and the least amount of work necessary to make it, so it'll do.

He gives Apollo his tea first, then Juniper, then Robin and Hugh, and finally sidles his way up to Lang, trying not to look like approaching the Interpol agent—the _alpha of alphas_ , the terrified part of him that still remembers that blazing fire blanking out all other thought insists—is frightening him.

Lang takes the mug of tea carefully, his fingers just barely brushing Klavier's. When he speaks, his voice is low and surprisingly gentle. "You did well. You resisted. It was a simple, innocuous command, but you still resisted. No one will ever be able to force you to do something you don't want to do, Klavier Gavin."

Retreating back to his position just behind Apollo's chair, Klavier has to remind himself to breathe, a combination of gratitude and shame swelling in his throat. It shouldn't matter so much, really. His greatest mistakes were those he made due to ignorance, not those he made because he was threatened, but it _does_ make him feel better, knowing no one can direct him like a puppet.

(His greatest mistakes were made because he _trusted_ , because he gave affection and loyalty to those who deserved neither, and _that_ is what the fire Lang can bring to bear demands—loyalty, love, devotion—and that is what Klavier cannot freely give.)

His left hand has ended up fisted in Apollo's shirt, his head against Apollo's head, and he inhales deep lungfuls of Apollo's scent. His friend, his alpha, a stubborn constant in a world that likes to shift like quicksand, and Klavier shudders, forcing the wolf-lightning down to a manageable level.

Apollo's hand lands on his, Apollo's fingers massaging gently at Klavier's tense ones. It is Lang that Apollo addresses, though, his voice cool, as though he were interrogating a witness in court. "You said that my alpha level _ratcheted up_. What was it that you meant by that?"

Klavier raises his head in time to see Lang shrug. Taking a sip of his tea, Lang continues to study the outside world. Making himself non-threatening, Klavier realizes, presenting as little a challenge as he possibly can with both tone and body language. "I meant what I said. It's obvious that you're more dominant than most made-wolves just to watch you and smell you, but your dominance is sometimes a little... odd. Sometimes it's obvious you're stronger than Woods; sometimes it seems like maybe you're the same level or a little weaker. So I pressed you, to see how you'd react, how much power you had to draw on."

Apollo nods, slowly. "And the answer was... a lot?"

"The answer was a hell of a lot." Lang takes another sip of a his tea. "I've never met anyone stronger than me—someone who could turn a command back on me. But you just about did. I think you could be at least as strong as me, possibly stronger. More interesting than _that_ , though—because despite what the pure-breds like to spout, I've known some damn strong made wolves—is the fact that you can control how strong you _seem_."

Juniper nods, raising her head hesitantly to glance at Apollo. "I wouldn't have known, if I hadn't been there for Lang's demonstration. I thought you were about the same dominance level as me, not..."

Apollo's hand is tight around Klavier's, a whiff of fear spreading out into his scent. "Is that... ability of mine a good thing? Or a bad thing? What does it mean for _me_?"

"Of immediate importance... it means you're not going to be joining anyone's pack." Lang takes a prowling step closer to them, his mug held negligently from his right hand but somehow not spilling. "You have to be alpha of a pack. If you're not, the second your alpha gives you a suggestion you don't like, there'll be blood."

A shudder runs through Apollo's shoulders. "I can learn to control it. This is just my second day as a werewolf. I could—"

"Go against your nature?" Lang's eyebrows pull down in a fierce scowl. "Train yourself to be something that you're not? _Why?_ "

A beat of silence, of hesitation, and Apollo opens his mouth, but Lang answers before he can speak, taking another step closer to them. "Just like there's no shame in being submissive, there's no shame in being dominant. So long as you listen to your pack—and I don't think you'll have much choice, not if you're recruiting people like Piano Pup—it's not a bad thing to want control. To want to protect. To trust yourself."

"I _do_ trust myself." Apollo frowns, sitting up straighter in his chair. "And I've got no problem being the alpha for our pack—other than the fact that saying something like that out loud is still this bizarre combination of very _wrong_ and very _right_."

Klavier smiles, nodding in agreement. Strange, how the thoughts that now seem perfectly reasonable with Gitarre prowling under his skin still sound utterly insane and bizarre when spoken out loud.

"I'm just worried this is going to cause a problem." Apollo glances at Juniper and then turns his frown back to Lang. "Especially given the whole I'm-not-supposed-to-exist thing."

"There're going to be wolves who aren't happy about it, certainly." Lang studies Apollo, a quick up-and-down flash of his eyes over Apollo's body. "Especially because I suspect you're something _else_ that shouldn't exist. Not just a made-wolf accidentally made, but a made-wolf with multiple bloodlines."

"Bloodlines?" Klavier's head snaps up, and he frowns at Lang, trying and failing to come up with a polite way of letting Lang know that issues of family and bloodlines are likely not good topics of conversation with Apollo.

"Our fierce little forest has been filling you in on what you need to know." Lang lifts his mug, taking a large mouthful and grimacing. "She told you about us wolves being the Moon?"

Apollo gives a hesitant nod. "The Tarot thing, yeah? Werewolves are the Moon energy—dream and magic and other stuff like that."

The wincing look on Hugh's face makes Klavier think this is either only partially accurate or a gross simplification. Given that Klavier was probably trying to die during this bit of teaching and has no memory of any discussion of Tarot, he can't really offer much by way of support or correction.

Apollo twirls his tea bag, creating a small whirlpool in his tea. "Humans are the Sun—logic and reason and physical things."

"Not bad for a beginner." Lang's smile now is proud. "The Sun and Moon are major arcana. That's the big forces of nature and life. There're twenty-two of them, in total."

Silence draws out, tense and waiting, and Klavier sighs. "May we take it from the dramatic pause that there are also twenty-two bloodlines, each associated with an arcana?"

"Well, it's more likely that the arcana were derived from the bloodlines, but that was ages and eons ago, and no one's good at recording things properly." Lang gestures with his mug toward Apollo. "You've got some other special abilities, don't you? Something you inherited through one side or the other of your family?"

Apollo stares down into his tea, and the trembling under Klavier's hand increases in intensity. "I don't know anything about my family. I'm an orphan. Abandoned at a year old with just my first name and this."

The fingers of Apollo's right hand wrap around his golden bracelet, and Klavier finds himself pressing as close as he can, trying to provide comfort via physical contact.

"Well, that would explain why you don't know much about your gifts." Lang speaks in a quiet, reasonable voice, but he's frowning deeply as he studies Apollo. "You haven't denied you have gifts, by the way."

"I..." Huffing out a disgruntled breath, Apollo runs his fingers along his bracelet. "I can tell when people are lying. I can _see_ it, and my bracelet gets tight on my wrist."

"You can..." Klavier takes a step back from Apollo. "What, you are a human lie detector?"

"Something like that." Apollo frowns, still studying his bracelet. "I can see the moment they lie, and when I press someone on it, they always admit that they're lying."

"That is cheating, Herr Forehead." Klavier tries to keep his voice light, but he can hear the strain in it. It's not _fair_ , though, that Apollo is able to _know_ when people are lying to him, while Klavier has to scrape and scrabble after the truth from a twisting kaleidoscope of clues and doubts and fears. "And something you should have let the rest of us know about."

"It doesn't make me infallible." Apollo turns in his seat, his left hand reaching out to Klavier in a gesture that looks completely unconscious. "I have to be asking the right questions to get a useful answer, and just because someone's lying doesn't mean they're lying about something important. It's just... another tool for me to use. Nothing more, nothing less."

Taking Apollo's proffered hand, returning to his spot at Apollo's side, Klavier stays silent. Perhaps he should have been able to figure it out on his own, from the way Apollo watches people, the way he grips his bracelet when he thinks they're not telling him the whole truth. Perhaps it really doesn't matter. He will need to think on it, to decide if he has any right to feel betrayed or hesitant, and in the meantime, there is no need to hurt either of them.

Apollo's fingers are tight around his, the smile Apollo gives him grateful before he turns back to Lang. "So. Does that fit with any of the missing twenty bloodlines?"

"I couldn't say for sure." Lang shrugs. "We tend to keep mostly to ourselves, and some have become very fractured and diluted over the years. Some haven't—us, the High Priestess line in Kurain—but others... whatever your bloodline is, it's not one I've had a lot of experience with. I don't recognize the scent."

"Have you got a _guess_?" Apollo asks.

At the same time Klavier asks, "You can _smell_ the bloodlines?"

Lang's lips quirk up into a smile. "Of course we can smell it. You can smell the wolf on all of us, can't you? And if I had to guess what your bloodline is, Firebolt... maybe Justice? It would fit what I've heard of you, and being able to tell when someone's lying and demand the truth would be in line with the legends of that bloodline."

Apollo stares at Lang with growing horror.

Klavier manages to suppress his laughter for almost ten seconds, but eventually Apollo's expression in combination with the still-happily-fizzing lightning in his blood makes it impossible.

Robin cracks up a moment later, and Hugh cracks a smile. Juniper winces in sympathy, but even she is clearly trying to suppress a grin.

"No." Apollo makes the statement flatly. "We're just going to stick with me having an unknown bloodline for the moment, and go from there."

"As you like." Lang shrugs. "Lang Zhi says it's best to avoid over-interpreting what your nose tells you, as it can lead both body and mind astray. The important part's that you're a little bit different from a standard werewolf. You can do things most of them can't, and that'll get their furry knickers in a twist."

"So." Klavier strokes a hand over Apollo's hair, earning first a disgruntled glare and then a sigh. "What do we do about it?"

"We keep the two of you working on your control. We talk about what options you have for third pack members, so we have a plan of action to present to the alphas tomorrow." A wolfish grin of sheer delight springs to life on Lang's face. "And then we play this evening, because this is the Lady's night, and she's given it to us."

Klavier howls without meaning to, a long, low sound that echoes through the kitchen.

Now it is Apollo's turn to give a snort of laughter, and he shakes his head as he downs the rest of his tea in one long draught. "This is going to be an interesting day, I can tell."

Lang's smile is still toothy and sure as he sets his own empty mug down on the counter. "One you won't soon forget, Firebolt. Now come on, let me see you both in fur."

XXX

Edgeworth takes his cell phone out of his pocket as he moves from the courtroom into the prosecutor's lobby, his mind still running over the case that they just finished. How do Wright and his proteges always manage to find the most absurd situations imaginable? Really, if Miles never has to deal with another case involving twins, music, decade-old grudges, or ridiculous architecture again, he will be very happy.

There had been no calls from Lang after his arrival in the country—Edgeworth had told the Interpol agent to call him immediately if anything important happened. There is a single text on his phone when Miles turns it off vibrate, the words blunt and to the point. _Call when ready to discuss action plan._ Well, since they've now successfully wrapped up this case, even if it _is_ in a way that will involve another trial tomorrow—

A commotion starts at the door to the prosecutor's lobby and Edgeworth lifts his attention from his phone to squint Phoenix's profile into view. "Wright, _why_ are you hugging the guard?"

"I'm _not_ , he's refusing to acknowledge my right to be here." Disentangling himself from the perturbed patrolman, Phoenix straightens his suit. A flash of bright red hair, a shimmer of yellow, and Edgeworth knows that Athena is standing behind her boss.

Sighing, Edgeworth waves the guard off. "Let them in. Don't you usually spend this time consoling your defendant, though?"

Athena grins. "Turns out Ella doesn't need much consoling. She's actually super excited to be starting a solo career, _and_ relieved that she wasn't going crazy and hallucinating her partner being in multiple places at one time over the last six months."

Edgeworth looks between Wright and Cykes. "Do the four of you in that office sometimes sit and _listen_ to yourselves and wonder if you've made the right life choices?"

"Given that we're saving the innocent and seeing the guilty sentenced, I'd say _this_ , at least, hasn't been a poor life choice." Phoenix stands with his hands in his pockets, grinning, but there is a rough edge to the smile that reminds Miles it has only been a little over a year since Phoenix's personal nightmare ended.

Holding up his phone, Edgeworth turns the conversation to what is undoubtedly the reason for their visit. "No calls, which means nothing disastrous. Just a request for a call when we're done."

Cykes makes a _hurry up_ gesture with both hands. "Well then, get calling!"

Fixing the young woman with a nonplussed expression, Edgeworth dials Lang's number, the phone feeling awkward and portentous against his ear as it rings.

And rings.

And rings.

It goes to voicemail, Lang's voice barking out a command to leave a message, and Edgeworth frowns. Could something have happened that would prevent Lang from calling? Is it possible that Justice or Gavin has—

A low-pitched howl overlaid by a steady taiko drum beat and joined after a second by a nohkan's flute line explodes right by his ear, and Edgeworth winces as he pulls the phone away enough to answer it.

"You didn't." Wright stares at him, obviously suppressing a smile. "You decided to use the Pink Princess' Samurai Wolf theme for—"

"Lang." Edgeworth glares at Wright. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's great! You've got a good batch of pups here, Mr. Prosecutor." A grunting, groaning sound is followed by a rustle. "Sorry I didn't grab the phone right away. We were in fur, helping the new wolves get a bit of practice and seeing what they're like. I don't suppose you'd be willing to give them to Interpol?"

Edgeworth can actually hear the wolf growling in the background, which he takes as a bad sign.

"Easy there, easy, it's just a joke. I'm not going to kidnap your pack-mate, Firebolt." Lang sighs, but it seems to be a pleased sound, and Edgeworth imagines that he is smiling. "You have a few minutes to talk, Mr. Prosecutor?"

"The case is over. The... _situation_ that you're helping us deal with now has my full attention." Edgeworth glances at the eager faces pressing closer to him with every sentence. "All of our attention, really. I have Wright and Cykes here too."

"Oh, good." Lang's tone becomes more serious. "Because there's something I think we're going to need, if we're going to get out of tomorrow with everyone's skin intact. We're going to need to present potential thirds for Justice's pack."

Edgeworth allows a breath to hiss out between his teeth. He had been worried about this yesterday, when Gumshoe pointed out and Edgeworth had observed for himself that Gavin and Justice were sticking together as a pack. That doesn't make it any less frustrating to hear Lang say it out loud. "Can't they just... join Woods'... _group_ for a few days?"

"We could try it, but everyone's going to be able to smell and see that it's a disaster waiting to happen, and that's not how I want to present them tomorrow. I want them to look calm and respectable, and they'll be able to do that with the little pack they've made now. It's just going to have to grow before everyone accepts that it's something stable and safe—before _they'll_ be really stable and safe. There's a reason we want there to be more than two in a pack. The pack-magic can get a little... _intense_ if it's not diffused along multiple bonds." Lang huffs out a breath. "Worries for later, though. Our biggest problem's that Justice is something special—something they're going to like even less than an accidental made-wolf. He's got another bloodline mixed in somewhere that means he can be even more dominant than _me_ if he ever feels he needs to be. Justice is going to need his own pack, and the sooner we can show them he has good options for it, the better."

Edgeworth closes his eyes, resisting the urge to curse. Of _course_ everything has to get more complicated. He can't have a nice _normal_ werewolf outbreak, oh no. "You don't think that some of the... people... _born_... like you would want to be in his group?"

He voice sounds so awkward, so uncertain, and it makes Edgeworth scowl all the harder. He _hates_ feeling out of his depth and out of control of a situation.

"Some of them might be." Lang's shrug is obvious in his voice. "Some might even get on great with Justice and decide to join his pack, and he'll want them, and it'll be fine and dandy and make everyone rest a little easier. But from what I've seen of Firebolt he's cagey, doesn't take to people too easily, and hates being challenged, which a born-wolf will be more likely to do when interacting with a made-wolf. Put your hackles down, Justice, it's facts, not judgment. Plus it'll show initiative and intelligence on the part of you and your little pack, Mr. Prosecutor, if you've got potential thirds in the wing."

Edgeworth sighs. "I thought I wasn't supposed to tell anyone? That there are secrecy laws?"

"Choose people you trust to hold the secret. You've done a damn good job so far as a liaison. You send a request asking permission to tell a small number of people, for the good of the packs, they should give it to you without much trouble." A rumbling threat rolls over the phone, causing the hairs on Edgeworth's neck to attempt to stand on end despite his knowing that Lang is miles away and that the anger is directed towards people other than Edgeworth. "If they don't give you permission, I'll take responsibility and say I gave you permission."

Closing his eyes again, Edgeworth considers the problem. "How many people do you want me to bring in on it?"

"How many people do you think need to know?" The sounds of something crashing in the distance trickles over the phone. "How many people're going to have to know to keep Gavin and Justice safe? Because that's the real mission, remember. We're protecting Piano Pup and Firebolt."

Opening his eyes, studying Wright and Cykes, Edgeworth can feel his head inclining in agreement. Klavier is his; Apollo is Phoenix's. They'll do whatever's necessary to keep them safe, given that neither young man has done anything wrong. "Do you think they'll accept me telling two or three more people?"

"Definitely." Lang's answer is prompt.

"Give me a few minutes to discuss the matter with our colleagues, and then I'll contact the local alphas. Once I've got a plan, I'll call you."

"Sounds good." Lang's voice becomes more distant, as though he has moved away from the phone. "If I don't answer the phone right away, I'll call back as soon as I'm in human skin again. Lang out."

The connection goes dead, and Edgeworth slides the phone back into his pocket. His gaze once more traces from Phoenix to Athena. "The best we can do for Mr. Justice and Mr. Gavin right now, it seems, is find them a third member for their... organization. I don't suppose either of you would be interested in joining?"

"I'll join!" Trucy appears suddenly at her father's side, her hand shooting up in the air.

Edgeworth looks at Phoenix, raising one eyebrow.

"No." Phoenix's hand settles on Trucy's shoulder. "Not until you're eighteen and out of school."

Trucy pouts. "But Juniper—"

Phoenix shakes his head. "She was born that way, it's different."

"But Hugh and Robin—"

"Trucy, _please_." A note of desperation enters Phoenix's voice. "This is a _huge_ decision. You want to think about it for a little bit longer, all right?"

Trucy narrows her eyes. "Until I'm eighteen is a very _long_ time from now."

"Not in the grand scheme of things, it isn't." Phoenix pats her shoulder again. "But if I shortened it to waiting at least three months?"

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Trucy considers the offer for a few minutes before giving a reluctant nod. "I'll wait at least three months."

Edgeworth narrows his eyes at Wright. Surely he doesn't mean to really let Trucy...?

Wright just shrugs, turning to Athena. " _I_ would really prefer not to become a... well, you know. I've got enough trouble handling my life as it is. What about you, Athena?"

Athena fiddles with her moon earring, turning the post around and around as she considers. "I... don't know? It doesn't seem too bad. It actually seems kind of neat. But like you said, it's a _huge_ thing... I'd be willing to think about it? Would that do what Agent Lang needs?"

"At the moment, yes. We just need to show that there are people considering finishing the necessary trinity for Mr. Justice's... organization." Tapping his finger against his leg, Edgeworth frowns at Wright. "Any others that the three of you know who we might want to bring in on this? Who might actually _want_...?"

After a moment Phoenix shakes his head.

Athena follows suit. "The only people I'm really familiar with and would trust are pretty much all involved already. Or probably don't need this heaped on their plate in addition to other things they're dealing with."

Trucy folds her hands together behind her back. "I could see if Jinxie—"

"No one under eighteen." Phoenix's voice is exasperated. "And _no_ , you cannot think of asking Mayor Tenma, either, he's already got enough attention focused on him. What about you, Edgeworth? I imagine that you'll want someone else to help Klavier who knows...?"

Phoenix's tone is hopeful, his hesitant smile too wide to be entirely genuine.

Edgeworth sighs. He had suspected it would come down to him choosing new people to bring into the fold. Who does he ask, though? Simon Blackquill? The man is brilliant and clever and far too good at keeping secrets, but he is still busy trying to put the pieces of his life back together. It is far too easy for Edgeworth to imagine Blackquill... _fracturing_ , if he attempts to assimilate yet another personality in the form of a moon-driven wolf.

Sebastian DeBeste? The man is good friends with Klavier, but with everything else that Sebastian has been through in his life, Edgeworth doesn't feel right foisting this off on him, too.

(There is no way Edgeworth could become a werewolf. The very thought makes his skin crawl, every time he considers it, and Lang has been clear that such a reaction greatly increases the likelihood of something going _wrong_ during the transformation.)

Perhaps considering other prosecutors is a mistake, anyway. It's going to be difficult enough making sure the schedule takes into account Klavier needing to be off-duty all the days of the full moon.

Someone not associated with the prosecutor's office at all, then? Kay Faraday might accept the proposition—would certainly be ecstatic to learn more about how the world works—but Edgeworth already has enough trouble keeping the private investigator out of places he doesn't want her to be. How much worse would it be if she could turn into a wolf at any moment? It wouldn't be _quite_ as bad as Kay having wings, but it would be bad enough. Plus Edgeworth has a hard time imagining her as anything other than an alpha for any pack she is part of, and having to find Justice a third and Kay two followers would just exacerbate the problem.

Raymond Shields is someone Miles can imagine as a wolf easily enough, but he's older than both Justice and Gavin, perhaps to the point where that could cause issues given Justice's dominance.

(Justice could be as dominant as Lang. There is something _special_ about Justice, Lang had said, but from all that Edgeworth has learned about Lang over the years, the idea of Justice being more powerful than him is rather horrifying.)

People that Gavin and Justice know are likely best, anyway. Who does that leave Miles with, though?

Only two, really. One that he promised he would tell as much as he could to, and one who has proven time and again his loyalty, though Edgeworth will have to make sure the man understands exactly how _secret_ this secret needs to stay.

"You've got some ideas." Phoenix grins. "I can actually be _happy_ about you having ideas in this situation."

Rolling his eyes, Edgeworth marches towards the door. "We're stopping at my office so I can contact certain people for permission. Then there are two people we need to pick up on the way to visit our friends and colleagues and hopefully come up with a more coherent plan for tomorrow."

XXX

Apollo stands in wolf form, his head down and his ears pinned back but his tail held high, glaring at what _was_ an end table until his wolf form missed a turn and careened right through the legs.

"It's all right." Juniper speaks calmly, stretching into her human skin with the ease of long practice. She misses her fur as soon as it's gone, the touch of the air cooler, her human mind a bit better able to comprehend that Prosecutor Edgeworth will be upset about this than her wolf mind.

Apollo's head rises, his little fur tufts wobbling as he huffs out a frustrated noise.

"I know you didn't mean to. It's fine." Juniper edges toward the shards of broken wood, careful not to meet Apollo's eyes in a challenge. Though they had been playing just minutes ago, the humiliation of tripping and any aches and pains that haven't healed yet might make him a bit more taciturn right now.

Klavier bounds up, his lanky gold form flinging itself over Apollo. His muzzle nuzzles at Apollo's chin and throat, his front legs splayed awkwardly over Apollo's back, checking his alpha for injuries while also laughing at him.

A turn, a playful nip at Klavier's front leg, and the two of them are off, Apollo chasing his pack-mate back toward the kitchen.

Juniper sighs, settling down to gather up as many pieces of the end table as she can. Thankfully there doesn't appear to have been much on it—some papers, a book that looks suspiciously like a superhero novel, a glass paperweight that seems to have somehow survived the collapse of its surroundings intact.

There's no reason for her to be jealous of Klavier. It's _good_ , that he and Apollo are settling so easily into their wolves and their little pack. It's not even like Apollo is being aggressive with her—in wolf form he's been as playful and companionable as two alphas can be, and in human form he's been far more kind and forgiving than she's a right to ask.

"Everything's going to be all right, Junie." Robin kneels down next to her, skin still twitching from the after-shocks of changing, and puts an arm around Juniper's shoulders. "The Chief Prosecutor won't care about his tables, and the way those two are learning, you'd think they were born-wolves. No one's going to be able to get too mad at you tomorrow."

Juniper can feel her cheeks flushing, heat rising to turn her face bright red. "I-I wasn't worrying about the meeting tomorrow."

It's both true and not true. She has been _constantly_ worrying about the meeting tomorrow, a dull ache of dread in the pit of her stomach and the back of her head. Right now, though, she has let something else—something _silly_ and _trivial—_ take precedence over what _should_ be her main concern. If something happens to her, Robin and Hugh will be in trouble, too, so she has to—

Hugh's hand reaches across her field of vision, picking up a table leg to add to her stack. "Mating season's ten months away. That gives you plenty of time to figure out how you want to court him."

"I-I wasn't—!" Juniper had been certain she couldn't blush any harder. She had clearly been wrong.

Robin giggles, a bright, cheerful sound, and slings her arm across Juniper's shoulders. "He _is_ pretty cute. If not for the whole more-dominant-than-you thing, I wouldn't mind having him in the pack."

"And he does have a remarkable record for a defense attorney, even if his methods are a little... unorthodox." Hugh grins, one hand reaching up to adjust his glasses. When his fingers find nothing, as they always do when he has just returned to human form, he flushes before shrugging and offering them a myopic little smile.

Affection surges through Juniper, and she drops the wood in her arms, throwing herself onto her pack-mate and knocking them both to the ground. Hugh yelps, a sound of surprise rather than fear or pain, and allows her to pin him down, tilting his head up in submission.

Nuzzling at his neck, at the scar that she gave him years that seem like an eternity ago, Juniper inhales his scent—Robin's scent, too, the young woman practically bouncing in place next to them.

Opening her eyes and sitting up straight, Juniper smiles at her pack-mates. "You guys are the best. You know that?"

Robin laughs again. "We are pretty good. And it _is_ a full-moon night again—if we can't make you happy today, we're _really_ failing at our job."

"You guys make me happy every day." Crawling off Hugh, Juniper once more begins collecting pieces of the broken table together. "Come on, let's get this all to the back door before Prosecutor Edgeworth brings our new confidants in."

Her pack helps her without complaint, and when they are done the three of them fall back into fur, joining Apollo and Klavier in a game of chase while they wait for their new potential werewolves to arrive.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Choosing Choices

**Author's Note:** I am running out the door to go to Anime North as soon as this is posted, so I will respond to reviews when I get a chance! That may not be until Monday, though, but I didn't want to miss a week of posting again. Thank you so much to everyone who's reading and reviewing, I deeply appreciate it!

 _Chapter Twelve: Choosing Choices_

Edgeworth pauses before his own front door, turning to face Gumshoe and Ema with a tiny frown. The frown seems to be mainly for Gumshoe, though, and he peers up at the senior detective with clear unease. "You're absolutely _certain_ , the both of you, that you'll be able to keep this secret? It's a matter of life and death, for yourselves as well as for those who are trusting us."

"You know that Ema here can keep a secret better than most." Gumshoe gestures towards Ema. "As for me... I'll try, Mr. Edgeworth. And I'm a lot better at it than I used to be. 'Specially knowin' that it's somethin' this important... I'd say unless Wright and his kids try t' get me to talk, there's no way in hell I'm spillin' any beans."

Arching one silver eyebrow, Edgeworth considers Gumshoe for a moment longer before sighing. "Wright and his kids all already know. And you're right, detective, you've learned over the years to watch your tongue a bit better."

"Wasn't much choice." Gumshoe's sigh is loud and noisy as he hangs his head down. "The whole Dark Age o' the Law thing meant we couldn't trust our own people like we should be able to. And I might not be the brightest color in the box, but I'm not goin' t' let people off the hook for things they did just 'cause I can't keep my mouth shut."

"I know, detective. You've been a great help over the years." The faintest hint of an approving smile touches Edgeworth's face as he studies Gumshoe for a moment more before giving a decisive nod and turning his attention to Ema. "And you, Detective Skye? You're certain you want to know all the answers? They will, in some cases, only open up more questions, and there is knowledge you will gain that cannot be ungained simply by willing it. Believe me, I've tried."

Ema raises both her eyebrows, nodding toward the door. "You've got pieces to a super interesting puzzle hiding back there, and you really have to ask if I want to see what they are? And answers leading to more questions is basically what science _is_ , so don't worry, I'm not going to be disappointed."

"I hope not." Edgeworth stands for a moment more, index finger tapping, and then turns decisively to the door. "Whatever you see, whatever you do, don't panic. You're safe, I promise."

Dramatic declaration over, Edgeworth raps out a rhythm on the door before inputting the key and the security code. To give someone warning? To show that it's him, and not someone else with knowledge of his house?

Ema finds herself fidgeting, craning her neck to try to get a hint of what lies beyond the door as soon as it opens. All Edgeworth had been willing to say prior to this was cryptic comments about how he can show her what happened to Gavin yesterday, if she wants, but only at the cost of an oath of secrecy and some Deeply Startling Revelations that she might wish she hadn't achieved.

A brief snort of disbelief escapes Ema as she waits impatiently for the surprise to finally be revealed. This isn't some Lovecraft story. She very much doubts that there is _anything_ out there in the world that she wouldn't want to know. Sure, there are things she _wishes_ weren't true, horrors that people perpetuate on each other that she would erase if she could, but knowledge in and of itself is never a bad thing.

Edgeworth eases the door open slowly, cautiously, and sidles in when there is barely enough room for him to fit. Gumshoe follows, and Ema is able to slip in after him, closing the door behind her before Edgeworth even has to ask.

"Agent Lang." Edgeworth's voice cuts through the expectant silence. "We're—"

Ema's not actually sure Klavier _moves_ through the space that he covers so much as he suddenly teleports to her side. He is grinning, a wide, bright, pleased expression, and for a moment she thinks that he's going to _hug_ her. "Fraulein Detective!"

Taking a step back, so that she's not quite nose-to-nose with the vibrating, energetic man, Ema puts a hand on Klavier's chest to keep the distance between them open. She can feel his body heat radiating out through the thin fabric of the polo he's wearing—not quite fever-high, just... obvious, more obvious than she is used to feeling it. "Personal space, fop. You're getting a little close there."

"Ach, _verzeihung_!" Gavin actually takes a step back, though the sense of manic energy vibrating through him only seems to redouble as he does. "I didn't mean to impose myself on you, _fraulein detective_ , I am just... glad to see you."

"It's good to see you looking better than you did yesterday." Gavin looks _infinitely_ better than he did yesterday, though he's still... off. Also, if she's not mistaken, he's wearing one of Edgeworth's shirts, the material not sitting quite right on Klavier's leaner frame. Plus Ema can't remember the last time she saw Klavier with his hair not only down but completely unstyled, little flyaway tufts of fine blond going every which way. "Though you might want to check the side effects on whatever medications they put you on, I'm pretty sure you're having a few of them."

Gavin's gaze moves to Edgeworth, expression questioning, but it's someone else who answers—someone Ema knows but hadn't expected to see in the country right now, though she _should_ have, what with Edgeworth calling his name a moment ago.

"I'd say that's a pretty good segue." Lang lounges in the hallway corridor, his shoulder against the wall. He has apparently decided that even the half-buttoned shirt and jacket he usually wears is too much work, and is in only his black pants, his hands stuck in the pockets.

"Lang!" Ema grins, stepping forward, Gavin temporarily forgotten.

"Agent Lang!" Gumshoe is also grinning. "How're your dogs doin'? They're gorgeous things!"

"And _another_ beautiful segue. You two are definitely ready for this conversation." Turning around, Lang gestures for them to follow him. "Come on, let me explain so Mr. Prosecutor doesn't have to hurt himself looking for the right words."

Edgeworth gives a sigh that actually appears to be mainly relief, following Lang; Gumshoe and Ema follow Edgeworth, Klavier bringing up the rear, the prosecutor humming softly to himself.

Edgeworth's kitchen is packed. Ema has seen it busy before—the worst time was probably when she, Gumshoe, Franziska, Lang, Kay, Edgeworth, and Judge Courtney all crammed into it—but this is even more impressive. Apollo sits at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in hand, and it takes only a brief look at his hands and eyes to decide that whatever Gavin's got, Apollo has it too. Athena sits at Apollo's right side, one hand on his shoulder; Trucy is crammed in on Apollo's left. Phoenix sits across from him, Robin next to him.

Two enormous dogs are sprawled on the floor, one male, one female. They scramble up when Edgeworth leads Ema and Gumshoe in, sitting at attention, ears pricked towards Lang.

Klavier and Edgeworth both move to the already-overburdened table, Klavier instantly reaching across it to touch Justice's left hand. Instead of Justice jerking away and snapping at Klavier, as Ema had expected, his fingers latch onto Klavier's. The two of them both seem to relax a bit at the physical contact, and Ema finds her eyes narrowing.

They narrow further when she takes a second look at the dogs. What kind of dogs _are_ these? They look more like _wolves_ than proper dogs, though their shoulders are just a bit too broad, the muscling across their chests just a bit... _off._ The male begins panting, and Ema has to force herself not to stare at his teeth. She knows that dogs and wolves have a higher number of teeth than people, but there's something _weird_ about the way his look.

"So." Lang pivots, his arms crossing in front of his chest, a half-feral smile flashing across his face. "I really should've expected it to be you two that he chose. You're good choices, really, but I've still got to ask. You're absolutely certain you want to know this? You're willing to be taken into confidence, and swear that you'll do nothing to _break_ that confidence?"

"I can keep a secret." Gumshoe answers Lang's question, though his eyes are fixed on the dogs. Taking a step forward, he goes down on one knee. "Hey there, pretty girl. Mind if I give your boy a few pets?"

The female steps forward, pressing her nose against Gumshoe's hand before nuzzling against the male's neck. Gumshoe wastes no time petting both creatures, earning tail wags.

Ema becomes aware of Lang's eyes on her, and she blinks, raising her head to study the Interpol agent. "It's nothing illegal? Nothing immoral?"

"Now, would Mr. Prosecutor be involved in anything illegal?" Lang's smile widens, before disappearing entirely as he fixes Ema in place with a stare, grave intensity rolling off him. "As for immoral, no. You're being asked to keep a secret to protect others, and yourself. That's all."

"All right." Ema nods. "I trust you guys. So what's the big secret?"

"Probably easiest to just show you, and then answer your questions." Lang paces forward, tapping Gumshoe on the shoulder. "If you don't mind taking a step back, Detective, it'll make things easier. Now, detectives, keep your eyes on the wolves. Ms. Woods, if you'd please..."

Ema watches the wolves, her eyes fixed on them, her heart beating faster at the confirmation that they _aren't_ dogs. She doesn't blink as she watches them, and she still can't believe her eyes.

It would be beautiful if it weren't so frightening; awe-inspiring if it weren't utterly impossible. The female wolf changes first, standing and stretching her front legs forward in a play-bow. Except partway through the bow the fur on her legs ripples, as though a hurricane wind were blowing through the house though nothing stirs against Ema's skin. Then the fur is _gone_ , smoothing away into human skin, and the toes that were pressing forward are extending into tensed human fingers, and the muzzle has melted back into the face, and—

They're werewolves. Ema's eyes flick from Juniper Woods to Hugh O'Conner, who begins his own transformation as soon as Juniper is done. In case they missed the first one? In case they didn't believe their eyes?

Juniper walks over to a discreet pile of clothing on the kitchen counter and begins dressing as Hugh is still finishing his transformation. Ema just continues to stare between the two of them, knowing that her mouth is hanging open, knowing what she saw, still not quite able to believe it.

Juniper shrugs into her blouse and offers Ema a tentative smile. "Yes, we're werewolves."

"Werewolves are real." Lang drawls out the words, leaning against the kitchen table, but his expression is one of nervous wariness as he watches her and Gumshoe. "That's what the big secret is. That's what you can't tell anyone who doesn't already know."

"But..." Ema closes her mouth, forcing herself to try to _think_ about what is happening. "You swear this isn't a magic trick? Something you guys worked up with the little magician there?"

Trucy shakes her head. "I solemnly swear this isn't a magic show. I'd tell you if it was one of my tricks, Ema, you know that."

She does. Ema has made it her duty to try to figure out how Trucy does all of her magic tricks; Trucy, for her part, revels in being able to pull off tricks that are entirely based in science, in sleight-of-hand and mirrors and misdirection and psychology, but that Ema can't explain. If this were one of Trucy's tricks, Trucy would be happily owning it.

"It's no trick, Ema." Edgeworth's voice is pained as he murmurs his own reassurance. "Though they make no logical or scientific sense, I can assure you that werewolves are real."

"Okay. All right. Werewolves are real." Ema can't believe she just said that. On the other hand... werewolves are _real_ , and she has specimens that she can study. _People_ , allies in the criminal justice field, a judge-to-be and a prosecutor-to-be, but still—there are _werewolves_. "Has anyone tried to study what you guys can do? To figure out how you can do it or... or anything about how it works?"

Juniper stares at her, expression puzzled.

Stepping up beside Juniper, his shirt and pants hastily donned, Hugh slides his glasses on. "You want to _study_ us?"

"Of course!" Ema looks between Edgeworth and the werewolves. "This is _amazing_. This is—there's so many physical laws that it looks like they're breaking, and we should try to figure out how! The scientific breakthroughs that could be made—"

"Ema." Edgeworth's voice cuts through her monologue. "I believe you're making our friends nervous. There is a _reason_ they keep themselves separate and secret, you see."

"For our protection." Lang is standing straight, all the muscles in his shoulders and back taut and obvious. "For all that we can be intimidating, humans are very, very good at killing us when they set their minds to it. And we prefer not to _have_ to recruit, because it can get really, really messy if we're just desperately trying to shore up our numbers."

"I didn't..." Ema's hands wrap around the strap of her satchel, and she can feel her face heating. "I didn't mean anything bad by saying I wanted to study them. You guys. No threat or anything. Just that, if this is _real_ , then it's something that deserves a _lot_ of attention. As long as it's all right with your people, of course." Ema blinks, finally taking a moment to process Lang's words. "Wait. You said _our_ protection—that means you're a werewolf, too, right?"

Lang smiles. "Can you really say that you're surprised?"

Ema considers the question for barely a second before shaking her head. "If we're accepting werewolves as a fact of nature, then no, I'm not surprised. I would actually be more surprised if you _weren't_ a werewolf."

The smile on Lang's face becomes more fond as he relaxes back against the table. "That's because you're a smart woman, Ema Skye."

"Detective?" Edgeworth's questioning voice comes from behind them, and both Ema and Gumshoe turn.

Ema doesn't answer, though, force of habit only causing her to look Edgeworth's way at the use of the title. She knows from long years of experience that she isn't the one Edgeworth means when he says _detective_ in that way.

Gumshoe is frowning down at his hands. Two fingers are raised on his right hand, three on his left. After another moment's contemplation he looks from his fingers to Edgeworth. "They were two of the dogs here yesterday. Woods and O'Conner. Woods was one of the alphas; O'Conner was following her. Which means... the other three were werewolves, too, yeah?"

Edgeworth blinks, and then a pleased, surprised smile flits across his face. "Very good deductive work, detective."

Gumshoe beams, his eyes going to his left hand and then to the table crammed full of defense attorneys and prosecutors. "Yesterday, Trucy said that the one dog was named Apollo. And Sunny, he had the same fur color as your hair, Prosecutor Gavin..."

Klavier grins, leaning back, though his hand stays tangled with Apollo's. "I have taken to calling that form Gitarre, but I suppose Sunny is a fitting enough canine name."

Ema stares hard at Klavier. "You... you're saying that _you're_..."

"Both of us." Apollo's hair seems to droop in dejection, but his jaw and shoulders are set in sheer stubborn determination, body language Ema is very used to seeing in the young man. "I was Changed without knowing it during the courtroom bombing incident; I accidentally Changed Klavier yesterday, because I didn't know what was happening."

"You're a werewolf." Ema's eyes track to Klavier, and she blinks. "You and Justice are werewolves."

Klavier shrugs, at least having the decency to look mildly embarrassed. "Justice and I are werewolves. And due to certain... unusual gifts that Justice has, we need to find a third person to join our werewolf pack."

"They don't need someone to join _immediately_." Lang pushes himself up off the table, stalking between Ema and Gumshoe and herding them closer to the others by the sheer weight of his presence. "But due to their irregular transformation—usually it's someone _asking_ to join a pack, and usually the other alphas in the area know before someone's Changed—we need to look like we have the situation under control. Like we have options for them for a third."

"Irregular transformations. Unusual gifts." Ema stares between the two men, still finding it hard to believe that _Gavin and Justice_ , two people she has _worked with_ , repeatedly, for _years_ , are now _werewolves_.

That's all right, though. She can handle this. It's not the first time something has come along to shake her world, and science has a method for dealing with paradigm shifts—a method _other_ than flailing and freaking out, though she thinks she understands the appeal of that response better now than she ever has before in her life.

Pulling a notepad and pen out of her satchel, Ema casts her gaze across the whole group of werewolves and... what, werewolf supporters?

Friends, she supposes. These people were all friends before, to varying degrees, and secrets tend only to make friendships closer. "All right, then. Let's start at the beginning. I want to know everything you all know about werewolves, everything that's happened up to this point, and what we're expecting to happen in the future."

Lang's feral, friendly grin returns. "That's an awful lot of information, detective."

"I can be patient and I have good shorthand." Flipping open to the first blank page in her notepad, Ema sets pen to white empty page. "So start talking."

XXX

Athena listens while everyone tells the story, sometimes talking over each other, more often than not bickering over fine details.

It's all friendly sparring, affection and relief layered over the remnants of fear and trauma that everyone still feels. Guilt also plays through Juniper's voice, a minor-note chord humming through all her words when she talks about biting Apollo, about the danger that there is for Apollo and Klavier because they are unauthorized made-wolves.

Even when there is guilt and fear, though, there is something else in the voices of all the wolves. It stands out most in Klavier and Apollo's voices—a glittering arpeggio that lends truth to Klavier's smile when he waves off yesterday's near-death experience as a bit of growing pains, a glistening glissando of joy overlaying the grief that always deepens and darkens Apollo's tones when he speaks of Clay. It is more than just excitement at the proof of a soul and life after death, Athena decides, because it matches too closely what she hears in Klavier's voice, and what she can hear in Juniper and Robin and Hugh and Lang's voices when they speak.

It is a part of being a werewolf. It is a part of the full moon coming this evening, and she has heard it before, she realizes, though she never knew quite what to call it. She heard it in Apollo's voice yesterday, though it was far more frantic, a barely-controlled _prestissimo_ shimmer of emotion that she hadn't been able to name.

And she heard it in Juniper's voice, when they were younger. It is more _integrated_ , in Junie's voice, so that it stands out less starkly. Athena thinks that will come in time for Apollo and Klavier, too, because in Lang's voice she can only hear it when he is excited about something else, and in Robin and Hugh's voices it is barely louder than in Juniper's.

"—and because my whole eye-gift is probably proof of another bloodline, it's even more important that we have a potential third pack member in the wings so there's no panic and coming to stupid decisions." Apollo scowls down at his tea, clearly unhappy, though that effervescent werewolf energy continues to drag his tones up to a more cheerful pitch than she would expect from previous encounters with grumpy Apollo.

"Wait." Athena blinks, checking back into the actual _words_ of the conversation as they come around to parts she's less familiar with. "By your eye-gift, you mean the whole you can see if someone's lying or not thing?"

Apollo gives a reluctant nod.

Athena sits up a little straighter. "That's something like the whole werewolf thing? It's another supernatural thing?"

Ema frowns, turning to another blank page of her notebook. Athena's fairly certain that Ema is going to run out of notebook before she runs out of notes she wants to make, at this rate. "I think I'd prefer using something like _unknown_ or _unexplained_ to supernatural."

Lang grins. "Whatever's going to help keep the peace, Ema. Though really, Mr. Prosecutor, you brought us possibly the _most_ sun-oriented person you could find as a Moon bloodline initiate."

Ema glares at the Interpol agent. "I also seem to be the one most likely to say _yes_ to this whole crazy mess, at least for the moment. So keep explaining."

Raising his hands in surrender, Lang adopts a more neutral expression. "Firebolt has the ability to see truths, and that's probably another bloodline ability, like the werewolves are a bloodline."

Ema nods. "And each bloodline is named after one of the major arcana of the tarot. Which is Apollo's?"

Lang's smile starts to grow again. "He's probably—"

"He's unknown." Apollo glares at Lang. "Agent Lang doesn't recognize the scent."

"True enough." Lang inclines his head. "I can make a _guess_ about what bloodline he has, but it would be just that, a guess. Some of the bloodlines are robust, with long histories and cultures—the Moon, the High Priestess, the Star, Judgment... those are probably the most common. Some only seem to pop up when big things are happening—when the Tower starts doing things, expect a dramatic change in the world, and if the World appears, well..."

"Well what?" Ema glares at the Interpol werewolf.

"Well, then we're in trouble. But that hasn't happened in centuries." Lang waves a dismissive hand. "Still other bloodlines—Empress, Strength, Devil—are thought lost. I don't know exactly what bloodline Justice has, but one thing wolves aren't supposed to do is start mixing too many bloodlines together. It gets messy pretty quickly, especially if you start throwing children and the next generation into the mix."

"Um..." Trucy's hand shoots up into the air, her fingers quivering. Her voice shivers, a combination of excitement and nervous tension and trepidation. "Mister Wolfman, I've got a question. If Apollo's ability is due to a bloodline... do you think _I_ might have one, too? Because I can kind-of do what he can do. I can't do it as _well_ , but I don't have his special bracelet, and... well..."

All of the werewolves suddenly have their attention fixed on Trucy, Apollo and Klavier leaning toward her—Klavier leaning half over the table, his lips pulled back just slightly from his teeth as he draws deep breaths. Lang and Juniper and Hugh all step closer, Lang casting a complicated look at Edgeworth as he does.

(Again Athena is struck by how much _history_ there is between these people, by how much she knows and how much she _doesn't_ know, but right now it doesn't matter, so she pushes the feeling away. There will be time enough to ask how everyone knows everyone else later.)

Stepping forward himself, Edgeworth puts a hand on Klavier's shoulder, drawing Klavier back into his seat. "Demonstrate your gift, Trucy. Focus on me. I planted the bush outside the window."

Trucy laughs. "I don't need any gift to know _that's_ not true."

Klavier is staring at her, and after a moment he gives a soft, breathless curse in German. "I thought, this morning, that you smelled similar to someone else..."

Lang gives a thoughtful nod. "I'd say you're right, little magician. You probably share a bloodline with Apollo."

Trucy turns wide, wondering eyes on Apollo. "And if it's a relatively rare bloodline, that Mister Wolfman doesn't know well, then maybe—"

Phoenix breaks in, and there is something approaching stark _terror_ sitting as the backbone of his words. "Let's just tackle one crisis at a time, Trucy. You've got another bloodline; that means you're probably not a great choice to be a third for their pack."

Trucy seems to deflate. "But since Polly's already a werewolf and it's the _same_ bloodline—"

Apollo shakes his head. "We probably wouldn't be able to be in the same pack, Trucy. Lang thinks it's my bloodline that allows me to act so dominant, so if you share my bloodline..."

Trucy sighs, crossing her arms and putting on a mock-pout, but Athena can hear the genuine distress and sorrow in her words, and she reaches out to place a hand on the young woman's shoulder. Trucy's fingers rest atop hers, and if Athena didn't have her gift she would swear that Trucy is fine when she speaks again. "I guess it's something for us to talk about, when my three months of thinking about it are over. Though I don't have quite as many control issues as you do, Polly, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad for me? Plus, if even Agent Werewolf couldn't identify my gift right away, probably no other wolves can, either. So I'll still be helpful when it comes to looking like things are in control. And that's really all that matters, is that we _look_ like things are under control."

Edgeworth pinches the bridge of his nose. "While there is a certain advantage to looking in control even when one isn't, and your father is very good at making use of those advantages, it would be better if we were to _actually_ have a plan."

Gumshoe points at his own chest. "I don' think I've got any special gifts."

Ema raises her eyes from her notepad, a smile that is somehow vaguely threatening flashing across her face. "And if I were experimenting on myself, no one would have reason to get nervous and upset."

Half the eyes in the room turn to study Athena, and she blinks back at them, running her hands through her ponytail as she considers. "While I'm still not sure if this is something I really want, there may be a bigger problem with me being presented as an option. If Apollo's gift is proof of a bloodline... I can hear emotions in people's voices. More clearly than I should be able to. Does _that_ sound like any bloodline you know of?"

Lang stares at her, unblinking, and Athena forces herself to stay still, to simply look back at him without flinching or challenging.

After seconds that feel far longer than they really are, Lang lets out an explosive breath. "Damn, Mister Prosecutor, do you know _any_ normal people?"

"Given that you're among my oldest allies and acquaintances, I'd be careful what words you choose." Edgeworth's voice is dry as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, but there is a twining depth of affection under the words, and a stuttering of frustration as he turns his eyes back to Athena. "Did your mother say anything to you about where your gift might have come from? Do you know if she or your father had it? Assuming, of course, that most of these bloodlines are passed down _normally_ , via actual bloodlines."

The last is an aside to Lang, who nods his assent.

Athena's right hand shifts to her moon earring, toying with the stone that represents so much—her connection to her mother, her victory over the Phantom, her saving of Simon. "My mom didn't have it, I know that. And if my dad had it, he didn't tell her. My mom didn't say much about my dad, though. I don't even know his name."

She had thought, sometimes, growing up, that her mother regretted everything having to do with her father, including Athena. As she has grown—as she has come to understand a bit more what her mother did—Athena doesn't think that's true, either. Metis simply no longer cared about the man who fathered Athena, all of her emotional power focused into helping Athena and continuing her work with Aura. The man who helped give Metis a child was a footnote, a closed chapter in an ongoing book, one that Metis had no desire to flip back through.

Lang scratches just behind his right ear, a very canine growl of frustration sliding from his mouth as he begins pacing back and forth. "I haven't really had much interaction with bloodlines other than ours. I'm a little bit out of my depth here. Maybe Lovers? The Magician? Strength, that could definitely fit in with Strength, understanding what someone's feeling and using that for soft control, but Strength's been gone for ages..."

Ema is once again scribbling frantically in her notebook, and Athena hears a mutter that is probably too soft for the others to make out. "Here I swore I would never get drawn into astrology..."

Or maybe not too soft for the others to hear, as Klavier's lips quirk up into a soft smile.

If the transformation makes _their_ ears more sensitive, what would it do to _hers_?

Apollo is practically vibrating in his seat, that tinkling wolf-power sound louder than ever in his voice. "Does that mean we shouldn't bring Athena and Trucy with us tomorrow? That we shouldn't consider them at all?"

Lang spins on his heel, coming back to stand at the edge of the table. "I think... I don't think it'll hurt for them to come. Like I said, it shows forethought on our part, as well as a nice solid showing of support for you guys. The more people who're clearly in your corner, the more support you've clearly got, the harder it'll be for anyone to justify trying to just make you disappear."

A strange mixture of cold acceptance—it is something Lang has almost certainly seen before, new wolves made to disappear for the good of the rest—and burning fierceness—he will _not_ let it happen again—sears Athena's ears, a jangling cacophony.

Edgeworth is watching Klavier and Apollo, his head tilted just slightly, and though Athena doesn't know him well, she thinks that tiny frown and his tapping finger is a sign of concern. "Is there anything more we need for tomorrow, then?"

"No." Lang shakes his head. "We should be good, with these four and me standing with Woods."

Edgeworth nods. "Then I would suggest we have dinner and focus on less fraught topics for a bit. Especially where it seems the moon will be rising in the next two hours..."

The tension level in the room drops almost immediately, all the wolves turning to Edgeworth with eager eyes at the mention of food. It would be funny if it weren't so _eerie_ , seeing the change in Apollo and Klavier, _recognizing_ the slightly-off tics that Juniper has as what they are.

Then Juniper catches Athena's eye, gives a tiny smile, and Athena smiles back.

It doesn't matter if Juniper is a werewolf, or Apollo is werewolf, or _everyone_ they know is a werewolf. They are her friends, and they have been there for her when she needed them, and Athena will be there for them now, when they need her.

And together, they'll get through anything.

XXX

Dinner ends up being a monstrous stack of pizzas, and Klavier eats far more than he normally would have been able to stomach. At least it's _high-quality_ pizza, not dripping grease, though he suspects Gitarre wouldn't have cared, the wolf prowling silver-bright through all his thoughts.

The moon will rise soon.

Not _now_ , not for another hour or so, but _soon_ , and its impending arrival burns beneath Klavier's skin, a promise of agony and ecstasy to come.

Edgeworth and the others try to keep them distracted, to keep them _human_ , suggesting a variety of games in between Ema peppering Lang with questions. Klavier tries to pay attention to Lang's answers, but it's hard to make his thoughts sit still long enough to follow what is said; he tries to talk with Edgeworth, to join Edgeworth and Trucy in a word game, but after the fifth or sixth time he gives a non-sequitur answer and Edgeworth freezes, Klavier decides it's better to excuse himself.

The house is too _bright_ , in a yellow-gold way that doesn't seem _right_ , that grates against the silver that flares behind Klavier's eyes whenever he closes them.

The house is too _loud_ , and though the noise is all from friends, they are friends who aren't _pack_ , friends who don't understand when he moves too close or touches too readily or leans in to draw a clearer breath of scent.

Their startled responses trigger a lurch of shame and fear in Klavier each time, a reaffirming that he is not _normal_ anymore—that he is not entirely _himself_ , though the creature that he has become seems more pleasant than not. It wasn't quite so noticeable, during the day, when everyone he was interacting with was a werewolf—when he could convince himself that half of the ways he interacts with Apollo now are simply because teasing Apollo is always great fun.

Apollo. Alpha. Friend. _Pack_.

The man who can see lies, who knows with a simple interrogation what it can take Klavier hours and days and months and _years_ to figure out, and Klavier gives his head a shake, a high-pitched whine sliding from his mouth as he tries to dismiss the thought.

His hand is on the door to the back yard before he realizes what he intends to do, and he hesitates. Will someone try to stop him, if he goes out? Will someone tell him this is a bad idea, that he is being foolish?

"Piano pup." Lang's voice is soft, no challenge or threat in it, and Klavier turns to see the Interpol agent studying him with grave but not wary eyes. "Too much for you right now?"

Klavier nods, his eyes flicking back toward everyone else. "I just... need a few moments, if it's all right. A little bit of quiet. A little bit of darkness."

Lang's head tilts to the side. "Do you trust yourself?"

Klavier draws a shallow breath. "Completely? _Nein._ But I've done well today, _ja_? You said so yourself."

"You have. Better than most made-wolves would have done in your situation. And I know you're a tough kid." Lang takes a half-step back, his thumbs looping into his pants. "I was half-considering taking us out for a run anyway, but it's not a good neighborhood for it. So go for it, Gavin, if that's what you need. But come in if you're not sure you can handle yourself, and I'll send Apollo out to find you before moonrise if you're not back in."

Klavier nods, and before anyone else can come and gainsay Lang he pulls the door open, sliding out into the dark.

It's cold, probably just above freezing. Goosebumps immediately rise on his arms, and he shivers, though it doesn't seem _quite_ as cold as it probably should right now.

Well, being cold isn't really a feeling he will miss. And if he _does_ , there are always places he can go with far more extreme temperatures. "Taking a trip to Antarctica because you want to feel cold is a perfectly reasonable thing to do, _ja_?"

The universe doesn't reply, not that Klavier had really expected it to. Settling down cross-legged on the ground, he tilts his head up, studying the stars as they begin to shine. There is more light pollution here than there is at his place, making it so that only the brightest of stars are visible, and Klavier doesn't know enough about stars to name the ones he can see.

There is a cold spot, icy chill, at his right hand, and Klavier turns his gaze toward what looks like empty space. "I suppose you could tell me what all of them are though, eh, Herr Terran?"

 _Do you want me to?_

The words are on the very edge of hearing, so faint that he could easily convince himself he didn't hear them if he wanted.

He _does_ want to hear, though. He wants to hear and he wants to see, and maybe it's not the brightest thing he's ever done, but there is so much silver fire sparking just beneath his skin, and if he allows it to bubble up just a little bit...

Terran's image wavers, like a television station that isn't quite coming in properly, but Klavier can see the other man sitting next to him—can feel the hand that is resting on his elbow, a gentle pressure.

Clay perks up. "You're using furry-vision, aren't you? You can see me?"

Klavier nods, not quite trusting himself to speak.

"Cool! That is _so_ cool—though also dangerous. Don't go turning _too_ fuzzy on me, yeah?" Clay's fingers tighten on Klavier's arm, but they're not _really_ solid, not yet, and Clay immediately relaxes his hold to keep his hand from sinking _into_ Klavier's arm. "Sorry! Still getting used to the whole ghost-thing plus wolf-thing."

"It's fine." Klavier spends a few seconds just breathing, trying to keep his balance between human and wolf, to see Clay and to keep his thoughts clear and his joints bipedal rather than quadrupedal. "You are... keeping track of me?"

"Apollo's busy enjoying his family, which means trying to stay human and pretend he's not going to be all fuzzy in an hour or so." Clay shrugs. "It's all right. I had him for most of today, and I'll get to play with you guys all night. Plus it means I can keep track of you."

"I don't need a babysitter, Mr. Terran." There is a growling undertone to Klavier's words, too much of the wolf sliding out, and he pauses for a moment, reining in the power. He is human.

"It's your second night as a werewolf. Apollo almost accidentally killed himself his first night as a werewolf, and his second day he bit you." Clay frowns, studying Klavier as though he's said something foolish. "I'm not trying to insult you. I'm just trying to make sure everything goes well, all right?"

"Right. Of course." Klavier closes his eyes. "Sorry. I just..."

"You've been through a lot in a short amount of time." Clay grins, relaxing beside Klavier. "It's all right."

"No, it's not. I've no right to take out my frustrations on you." Opening his eyes again, Klavier turns his gaze back to the stars. So faint, so distant, and yet still so captivating... falling back in the grass, Klavier keeps his breathing even. "I've no right to be frustrated, really."

"Changes. Big. Quick." Clay shrugs, also lying back in the grass. "Anything you want to talk about?"

" _Nein._ " Yes, if he's honest, though he keeps trying to just forget it, to push it from his mind. "Though... did you know about Apollo's gift?"

Clay goes very still, and then gives a quick, sharp nod. "Yeah. He told me about it, as soon as he found out. He was equal parts excited and nervous and disbelieving. It was pretty cute."

"The two of you were close." Klavier watches the way Clay flinches back, the ghost's right hand moving to press against his chest. " _Are_ close. You're the reason he's made it through this so well."

"He's my best friend." Clay smiles down at the ground. "And I knew, even before he did. Not exactly _what_ he could do, but... Apollo's always hated being lied to. He's always had a really good sense of it. I learned pretty quickly not to ever tell him a direct lie, even in the interest of things like holidays. So it wasn't really much of a surprise when I found out he had a gift."

"It seems a great many people knew about his gift." Klavier winces, looking away from Clay, feeling his face heat. He's no right to be jealous—no _reason_ to be jealous, of either the gift or of how widely known it was. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound... just, sorry."

Clay is silent, for so long that Klavier fears he's lost the balance and simply can no longer hear the ghost. A quick glance to the side shows Clay's form, wavering but still present, and when Clay sees him staring, he gives a wan smile. "Is it a wolf thing or a human thing, you being upset that you didn't know?"

Klavier hesitates, not certain how to answer—not certain he _wants_ to answer. He was the one who sounded possessive and ridiculous, though, so he supposes he owes Clay as much of an explanation for silly emotions as he can cobble together. "Both, I think. Gitarre does not like Sol having secrets from him—and I know it's unfair, Apollo is closer with Athena and the Wrights than with me. I am fine with that. I will not try to cage the fire-bird. I know how badly that would go."

Clay waits a moment before reaching out to poke one ice-cold finger against Klavier's hand. "So does that mean it's the human part that's causing trouble?"

"I..." Klavier heaves a sigh, and a whimper slides out with it, one he hadn't intended and didn't expect. "I am jealous of his gift, I suppose. It would make it so much _easier_ , I feel. Knowing when someone is lying, when someone is telling the truth..."

"It doesn't solve all the problems." Clay's words are blunt, though his tone is sympathetic. "Not by a long shot. If it did, then everything with Athena and trying to clear up the Phantom case... it wouldn't have been so hard on him."

"I know." Klavier's body is curling up despite his best efforts, chin tucked, knees drawn up, a protective canine posture. "I just... did he ever tell you if he knew? Or suspected? About... about my brother?"

"He didn't suspect." Clay's voice is full of certainty. "He was blindsided by it. His boss going to jail and him losing his job was a pretty terrible period for him. Up until last month, it was probably one of the worst times of his life. Oh, hell, are you all right? Do you need me to try to get one of the others?"

Klavier shakes his head, counting his breaths, keeping a picture of _himself_ front and center—blond hair, blue eyes, easy smile, _human_ face. He will not lose control like this. He will not embarrass himself like this. "I'm... f-fine."

Clay's fingers brush cold and chill against Klavier's forehead, a wind promising icy rain, and Klavier focuses on the sensation. After a few seconds, the tingling buzz of silver lightning gathering in his joints and erupting out of all his pores fades, and he manages to uncurl.

"There you go." Clay settles back, giving a deep sigh. "Maybe we should avoid any emotionally fraught subjects for the moment, all right?"

"That... may be difficult. Most topics have at least some emotional baggage. And emotions right now are... strange." Klavier lifts one hand, studying his fingers as he bends and unbends them, dark shadows against the night sky. "It's like... feeling too much. Joy, and this fierce _exultation_ in living, and those are _wunderbar_. But also... yesterday. Ach, I am sorry."

"No need to be sorry. Yesterday seemed really miserable." Clay rests his chin on his knees, studying Klavier. "Being a little freaked out about a lot of stuff right now seems pretty normal to me."

Klavier can't help but smile at the easy way Clay gives the reassurance. "I hope so. I think... part of it is that I saw Kristoph yesterday. When I was... ill. And he was not... terribly kind. So when the wolf is not telling me to be happy..."

"Saw Kristoph." Clay sits up straight, his shoulders suddenly taut and tense. "What, saw his ghost?"

"I don't know." Klavier shrugs. "Perhaps his ghost. Perhaps a hallucination. I don't suppose _you_ could tell...?"

Clay hesitates, and then shakes his head. "I can sometimes see other ghosts, when they're following someone. I've seen ghosts with Prosecutor Edgeworth and with Athena and with Mr. Wright. I haven't seen one with you, but I don't know if that means there for sure isn't one."

"And I suppose it doesn't matter." Klavier rolls over, so that he is facing Clay more easily. "If it was his ghost... I survived his attempt to hurt me. If it was a hallucination, I survived the worst that my own mind could come up with. Apollo and I are alive, and learning, and we will be just fine."

"You will be." Clay nods an eager affirmative. "You're fine!"

" _You're_ fine. The finest ghost I have ever had the pleasure of knowing." Klavier smiles, and the last of the jealousy and melancholy fades away. The _restlessness_ doesn't leave, feeling permanently embedded in his skin and thoughts, but it is more manageable this way.

"You're the second-best werewolf I've ever known." Clay grins, one hand reaching out to stroke over Klavier's hair. He pulls back almost immediately, looking sheepish.

"Would you do that again?" Klavier inches closer to the ghost. "It feels... nice."

"Sure." Clay blinks. "Whatever helps."

Klavier lies still on the cold ground, his eyes turned to the stars while insubstantial snowy fingers stroke through his hair. After only a few seconds, Clay beings talking about the stars that they can see, his voice hissing in and out of comprehensibility along with Klavier's focus.

That's all right, though. Klavier doesn't need to hear Clay to enjoy his company, and hopefully the comments he makes are enough to ensure that Clay enjoys it, too.

XXX

Apollo steps hesitantly out the back door of Edgeworth's house, trying not to shiver as the night reaches out to wrap around him. He had stayed inside after dinner, basking in the bright lights, using them to hold the dark of night at bay. Not that it helps much—he can still feel moonrise coming, building inexorably with every passing minute, a tingling, humming, thrumming power beneath his skin. He's half-expecting to give off sparks whenever he touches something, though of course that hasn't happened.

It would be silly, right, to have electric werewolves? _Much_ sillier than there just being werewolves, period.

A grimace slides across Apollo's face as the ludicrousness of the situation once more tries to press itself upon him. There's no use denying what's happened or what's happening, though—the sooner he comes to terms with this, the sooner it'll just be another weird facet of his life, much like his ability to see lies.

"Herr Justice." Klavier's voice is a soft whisper, barely louder than the sussing of the wind through the shrubs and grass, but it gives Apollo something to hone in on.

"Hey, Gavin." Where Apollo had gravitated to the light and the noise of their family this evening, cherishing as much time in human form as he can get, Klavier had slipped out into the empty yard and embraced the coming night. Which isn't a _problem_ , not really, but Lang has been looking pointedly between the clock and Apollo for the last five minutes, until Apollo finally got the hint and moved to collect his missing pack-member. "Moon'll be rising in ten minutes or so."

"We should be going inside, then." Klavier climbs to his feet from his position on his back in the grass, his movements somehow managing both graceful and _caged_ at the same time. Or perhaps Apollo is just projecting, imagining that Klavier must be feeling the same things that Apollo is feeling and reacting to them in the same way. "Is it... does it feel any different than a normal...?"

"Not really." Apollo shrugs, his hands in the pockets of his borrowed pants. "A little... _fiercer_ , I guess. You can't stop it. But overall it's about the same."

"That's good." Klavier steps up to Apollo's side, his right hand falling on Apollo's shoulder, his head moving to rub gently against Apollo's.

Looking for comfort, looking for reassurance, and Apollo gives it instinctively, pressing his body back against Klavier's. "It'll be fine. You've been doing well all day. But Agent Lang thinks we should all get ready, just to make sure things will go well."

"Understood." Klavier sighs. "A pity we can't just run. I think Gitarre would enjoy that."

"Not if he gets hit by a car, he won't." Apollo taps his fist lightly against Klavier's chest. "And _you_ won't appreciate it if Gitarre gets you in trouble. When we've got more space, and less chance of people getting upset if a certain _someone_ starts howling, _then_ we'll let them run."

Klavier's shoulders shift in a motion that is part-shiver, part-shrug. "I look forward to it. There are... a great many things I am looking forward to."

Apollo had been in the process of steering them toward the door, but he pauses, suspecting what it is Klavier wants to talk about. "Like... having more people in the pack?"

" _Ja_." Klavier's voice is a husky almost-growl. "It... makes me far happier than it probably should, the idea of more people in the pack."

"No, it..." Apollo sighs, pressing more strongly against Klavier. "It makes me happy, too. Makes Sol happy. I think it's just... instinctive. Wanting pack around."

"It is not a bad instinct, either." Klavier's words are German-thick but somehow more human, less _wolf_ as he continues. "Juniper and her pack are clearly happy, and I... I do not mind this. Us. But I worry... do we have a right to ask this of the others?"

Apollo is silent for long seconds, thinking over the words. It is a worry that has pressed on his mind, as well, when he gives himself time to think about it. Becoming a werewolf has been nothing but a disruption in his life. He can see it _continuing_ to be a disruption in the future. Is it fair to ask one of their friends to share this with them, just because Apollo is incapable of being in someone else's pack? "I don't know. But we're not going to _force_ it on anyone. We're going to let them make a choice. Maybe none of them will even want to be in a pack with us. I mean, Ema can barely seem to stand either of us on a good day, I'm not sure she'd really want... all this."

Silence stretches out again, long, fragile, and the cold night pushes against their body heat, pressing them even closer together before Klavier speaks again. "Ema was hurt, badly, by the broken system. But I... I have a great deal of respect for her, and if she wanted to be a part of our pack..."

"Whereas I would love to have Athena in our pack, if she wanted it. If it was _safe_ , which it might not be..." Apollo sighs, pressing his head down on Klavier's shoulder. A low growl beings rumbling in his chest, and he finds himself chewing on Klavier's shirt for a few seconds before he forces himself to stop.

Klavier's hand ghosts over his hair, Klavier's head rubbing against Apollo's in a very canine gesture of camaraderie. "Detective Gumshoe is quite a lovely man, too, and unlikely to challenge _anyone_ for authority, I would say."

"Lots of options." Apollo forces himself to pull away from Klavier, to hold the prosecutor at arm's length. _Prosecutor_ , he keeps repeating to himself, and that means that until they actually turn furry, he's going to _try_ to act normal. "But we can't Change anyone for at least another week, anyway. First, we go back inside and enjoy ourselves. Yeah?"

" _Ja_." Klavier smiles, collecting himself, and if not for the strands of dead grass that the porch light illuminates in his blond hair, Apollo could imagine they're both still entirely human. "Lead on, Firebolt. Before someone comes to fetch the both of us."

Apollo doesn't say anything else, just leading the way back inside, and together with Juniper, Robin, Hugh, and Lang, they prepare for the rising of the moon.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Alphas

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the penultimate chapter! As always, thank you all so much for reading and for reviewing. It's been a great ride, and I hope people enjoy the ending!

 _Chapter Thirteen: Alpha_

The alphas hold their meeting in a park.

Apollo supposes he shouldn't be surprised, really. What does he expect them to do, rent a conference room on short notice? Break into a school and use their gymnasium? Have a super-secret base hidden somewhere, where twenty-four strange werewolves plus Juniper's pack plus Apollo and Klavier and all the still-human people who have come with them can fit?

They need space. Especially if this might get heated, alphas disagreeing with each other, they need a _lot_ of space. There is nothing more dangerous than a trapped and angry wolf, except perhaps a trapped and _frightened_ wolf.

The day is warm for the season, the sun having climbed high and burned away all but a few clouds. Though the grass is still brown and crumbly with the touch of winter, Apollo is comfortable even without his suit jacket.

He tries wearing it anyway. They need him to look classy and in control, and nothing looks classier than a guy in a suit, right?

Plus Edgeworth had looked vaguely horrified when Apollo emerged from his apartment in his second-best suit with the jacket slung haphazardly over his shoulder. In the interests of avoiding a repeat performance of the fifteen minutes Edgeworth spent making sure Phoenix looks advertisement-perfect, Apollo had hastily pulled the jacket on before sliding into the back of Edgeworth's sport's car.

Klavier hadn't been threatened with grooming when he emerged from his house, but Klavier is ridiculously good at making himself look good, and today is no exception. His blond hair was a tangled mess this morning when they woke in a twining jumble of arms and legs (Apollo isn't sure if he will ever be able to look at Lang without blushing in the future, but he _really_ doesn't want to think about it right now); by the time Klavier exited his house, his hair was in a very neat braid-ponytail- _thing_ over his left shoulder and he was impeccably dressed. It's a very _different_ kind of impeccable from Edgeworth's, one that shows skin at both navel and chest, and perhaps that's another reason Edgeworth had just sighed and gestured for Klavier to get in the car.

Trucy and Athena ride with them; Lang, Gumshoe, and Phoenix share a car; and Ema, Juniper, Robin and Hugh take a third one. They all arrive at the park at the same time, though Gumshoe's car seems to have run into some kind of trouble and is _smoking,_ a soft trickle of black from under the hood.

Before Apollo can ask what kind of trouble they possibly ran into, Juniper has teleported to his side. Her fingers reach out, brush very gently against his fabric-covered forearm. "Whatever happens, whatever they do, _don't_ get aggressive. Protect yourself and Klavier, of course, but don't let them bait you. All right?"

"I understand, Ms. Woods." This is probably the sixth time Juniper has repeated the advice, but it's clear that she means well by it. So Apollo forces a smile, though his stomach is knotted with nerves, as though this were a trial they were going to. "I grew up an orphan, remember. I'm very familiar with people holding me to higher standards, and blaming me for giving in to teasing. I won't let these werewolves get under my skin."

"He can have very thick skin." Klavier smiles, every inch the charmer as he comes to lounge beside Apollo. "Not quite as thick as his skull, but thick enough."

Juniper's hands are clenched together in front of her, and she shifts her focus to Klavier. "And you? You're going to be all right?"

" _Mich?_ " The smile takes on a more cutting edge. "What could they possibly find to take offense about with regards to me? They should be honored to have me as one of them."

Apollo gives Klavier's shoulder a light cuff, though Klavier's posturing and feigned affrontedness has at least brought the ghost of a smile to Juniper's lips. "What he's trying to say is that we'll both be fine. We've got this."

" _Mein Alpha_ has more experience with being both defense and witness than I do, but there's no trial you'll see me running scared from, _Sonnenblume._ " Klavier reaches out, brushing some of Juniper's hair away from her eyes. "Everything will be fine."

"We're fine!" Apollo's voice cuts easily across all of the ambient noise, drawing stares from the people— _werewolves_ —already converging on the picnic pavilion. Well, this _is_ going to be a trial, of sorts. "I'm Apollo Justice, and I'm fine!"

Lang appears as if by magic, wincing and rubbing at both his ears. "Well, your lungs are fine, that's for sure, Firebolt."

Klavier grins, slinging his right arm across Apollo's shoulders in a gesture that could _almost_ be entirely human, if not for the way Klavier's head rubs against Apollo's and the smell of wolf that's suddenly strong around them. "That is pure Apollo Justice, Agent Lang. The workers at the courthouse very rarely have to ask who's the defense when Apollo is on duty."

Apollo can feel his face flush, but he doesn't lower his head, staring straight at the Interpol agent. "Should we walk up there now, or have you and Juniper go first, or...?"

Lang glances over his shoulder, and Apollo strains his ears so that he can hear Gumshoe and Phoenix talking.

"— _told_ you we should stop." Gumshoe has the hood of their car open and is waving smoke away.

Phoenix shakes his head. "We didn't have _time_ , you and Lang are kind of important, and we _did_ make it—"

Lang sighs, shaking his head and turning back to Apollo. "Things are never boring around Mister Prosecutor's pack, I've got to give him that. Let's give them another minute or two, and then we'll all walk up together—me first, then Juniper and her pack, then you two, then Edgeworth and the rest of the humans. Got it?"

Apollo nods. "Got it."

Time seems to move strangely, in odd fits and starts. For a few seconds Apollo chafes at the wait, wanting to charge up the hill and study the people who are staring down at their little group with obvious interest and distrust; then they are falling into marching order, heading up the hill, and it feels like it's too soon. Like he's going into a trial and he still doesn't know what he should—like the judge will ask him what's going on, and he'll just have to stare blankly.

Except he _does_ know what's happening. He is a defendant; Klavier is a defendant; Juniper is a defendant. The crime, at the moment, is _existing—_ at least for Klavier, and it is the lesser of Apollo's crimes. For Apollo and Juniper, the crime is being human (though they're not) and making mistakes under intense duress. His job is just to convince the jury that no one deserves punishment for what happened.

He can do that. Heck, he's probably the lawyer with the most jury experience right now.

He can _definitely_ do this.

"I like that look in your eyes." Klavier's voice is a low rumble, his expression set in a confident, easy smile.

His court smile, his _battle_ smile, and Apollo shivers, remembering as if from a very great distance yesterday. Had he really been able to think of Klavier as his enemy just over twenty-four hours ago, as someone he needed to _defeat_? Strange, how much can change so quickly.

Removing Klavier's arm from around his shoulders, Apollo gives his pack-mate a toothy smile. "I like the look in your eyes, too. Now, let's go show them what a _real_ court looks like."

XXX

Juniper summarizes what happened over the last month, trying to keep strictly to facts—dates, events, people involved, keeping anything that might be considered an attempt to manipulate the situation for later.

The other alphas watch her. The alphas are seated at the picnic tables under the pavilion, one or two to a table, all of them focused intently on her. Most of their supports—betas, gammas, even one who brought his omega—stay standing, either behind or to the side of their alpha.

Robin and Hugh flank Juniper; Klavier and Apollo stand together just to Robin's left, studying the gathered alphas with calm, assertive expressions. Lang lounges against one of the posts that is holding up the pavilion, watching Juniper from the corner of his eye. Their human friends are gathered a short distance down the hill, huddled together, bodies straining toward the pavilion as they attempt to hear and follow what is happening.

When Juniper has recited the facts of the last few weeks, ending with her decision to call the alphas together today, she clamps her mouth shut, staring hard straight ahead.

Straight ahead happens to be at Shae, and that brings a little bit of calm to Juniper. Shae is the strongest of the local alphas, somehow managing to hold a pack of thirteen together with seeming ease. She is also beautiful, shoulder-length blond hair always managing to look like some kind of perfectly coiffed lion's mane. She has brought her beta, Navon, with her, though Navon's attention seems more focused on the humans than it does on Juniper's or Apollo's pack.

"What you've just admitted to..." It isn't Shae who speaks, but another alpha, an older male named Gerald Lacky. "The unauthorized Changing of a human is a capital offense. One that both you and this Apollo Justice are guilty of."

Klavier smiles as he fixes the alpha with a direct gaze—a _challenging_ gaze, and from the way Klavier stands, the way he flicks at his hair, Juniper knows that he is aware of that. "A capital offense, in all _civilized_ countries, is seen as requiring premeditation. There was no premeditation, for either accident."

"Extenuating circumstances." Apollo has his arms crossed in front of his chest, his legs braced—ready to fight, and her sense of his strength, of his _alpha_ status, climbs several notches. "A tragedy doesn't necessarily mean someone has to be charged with a crime. Just because someone gets crushed by a tree doesn't mean that you arrest the nearest lumberjack."

"Ah, but see..." A third alpha, a female named Rex Tainer, glances at Lacky before turning to Apollo. "If a lumberjack were to, say, saw through half the branches on a tree and leave it untended, then he would be charged with negligence at the least, murder at the worst if someone were to die because a branch crushed them."

"There is not a country in the world that considers _negligence_ a capital offense." Klavier's voice is a soft purr. "Believe me, I have traveled very far."

Shae's eyes fix Juniper in place, though her words are directed to Klavier and Apollo. "Our laws aren't the laws of other countries. There is very little room for nuance and mercy in our justice. It's a necessity for living the way we do."

"A necessity we would like to change." Navon pushes his glasses up on his nose, finally turning his eyes away from the humans. "But that's many conversations for the future."

"We can't very well sentence someone to prison, now can we?" A middle-aged male alpha, Destin Pot, gives a brief laugh at his own suggestion. He is the type of alpha that Juniper once wanted to be—with a pack of eight adults and three pups, stable and well-respected. "The first full moon someone passed in jail, and it would be all over. So we keep our laws simple, and our punishments simpler. You're both guilty of breaking the laws."

Klavier's lips pull back from his teeth, a snarl rumbling low in his throat. "Herr Justice didn't even know of your laws, and as I was the one he attacked—"

"Ignorance is no excuse for failure to act properly." Lacky's voice is condescending, her expression utter haughty certainty as she waves a hand to dismiss Klavier's point. "And it doesn't explain what Woods—"

"She was in an exploding courtroom." Apollo takes a step forward. "Have any of you ever had to face something like that? Can any of you say that you would keep even half the poise that she did—say that you absolutely wouldn't have Changed, when faced with that kind of stimulus and threat?"

Silence for a moment, and Juniper can see them considering it. There is sympathy in some faces—Shae and Navon lean towards each other, communicating in small motions, and Juniper thinks they will side with her, so long as there is hope. Others...

Tainer looks to Destin, who gives a small gesture. The female hesitates only a moment before jumping to her feet, scowling at Juniper as she does. "Why are we even debating this still? Why are we listening to them? A confessed berserker— _two_ confessed berserkers! And the third a being that shouldn't exist, someone separated from the Lady's grace by the Sun's brightness. We should have this over with before—"

"Before what?" Lang pushes himself off his post, his voice surprisingly light and soft as he stalks forward. "Before you listen to reason? Before you remember that you're more than a beast—that you _must_ be more than a beast? That the Lady calls us to be better than either of our natures?"

Only Shae stays still, watching Lang approach with calm, unperturbed serenity. "Lang Long-Tooth. It has been some time since you graced us with your presence."

"I'm always happy to see you, Shae Pack-builder." Lang smiles, and for a moment it actually contains something approaching honest humor and affection.

Juniper blinks. It's the first time she's heard Shae referred to as _pack-builder_ , though Lang uses the proper epithet form for a title of respect. Juniper finds that she _likes_ the moniker. Pack-builder. Creator of family and safety. Could _she_ be called that, one day?

Not if they decide to kill her here today, and that _is_ still a possibility. What will her mother say if Juniper dies today, executed as someone too dangerous to hold power such as she has? Her mother hadn't been certain about Juniper going to Themis in the first place, had urged Juniper to wait before taking on the duties of an alpha.

It's hard to tell which way the conclave as a whole is leaning. There is open hostility radiating from some of the alphas—particularly Pot and Lacky—and those have maneuvered their way towards the front of the gathering. Others, such as the old alpha Arthur Colyte, are hard to read. Only Shae and Navon seem openly sympathetic, but Shae's pack has always been know for strangeness.

"And what, pray tell." Colyte raises both eyebrows, leaning forward. "Brings you to our little conclave here, Lang Long-tooth?"

"Justice, of course." Lang shrugs, as though this were obvious, his expression becoming deathly serious. "Human justice, at first—it _is_ my main job, after all. But when I heard about what Juniper intended to do, presenting herself and her case rather than trying to hide... well, I just couldn't keep myself away."

It's not quite a threat, though it is a promise. Whatever is decided here, whatever the alphas elect to do, Lang will carry their actions back to others. Nothing that happens today will happen in a vacuum—there is nothing that the gathered alphas can do to just make the problem go away, though that is likely their first instinct.

"There are others here." Klavier's voice is soft, a smile on his face, but Juniper knows from having watched him in court that it's not a friendly smile. "Others that you depend on, I believe—others it would be very hard to make disappear. The Chief Prosecutor is quite well known, in many circles. I would be loathe to take on him or his friends as enemies."

Apollo is a tight ball of righteous anger, his hands clenched into fists as he surveys the alphas. "If I understand what you are correctly, you're supposed to _protect_ people. Who's protected by attacking us—by attacking Juniper? Who's helped? No one. All you'll do is make things worse."

"Brave words, from a pup who's just survived his first moon." Destin stands, sauntering forward—not quite into Apollo's personal space, but close enough to make it clear he's attempting to challenge and prod Apollo.

 _Please don't please don't!_ Juniper pleads with her eyes, her heart in her throat. For _any_ new wolf, the presence of a strong alpha that close would be difficult; for a newly-minted alpha, with his pack also in danger...

Apollo's lips pull back from his teeth, and Juniper can practically _see_ the crackle in the air as his dominance level ramps up, meeting and exceeding Destin's with ease. He doesn't attack, though. He doesn't do more than snarl and take a step forward, meeting Destin's threat with equanimity.

When Destin takes a hasty step back, Juniper forces herself to breathe again, though she's not sure if this is actually going to make anything _better_ or not.

It proves Apollo's stability, though. Klavier's, too, Klavier standing close to his alpha, and it's clear that his hackles would be up if he were in fur, but he hasn't attacked despite the provocation.

Navon and Arthur both take a step forward, though Navon stops at a quick touch from Shae's hand.

Colyte doesn't, walking up to Apollo and Klavier, though he keeps a more respectful distance than Destin had. "What _are_ you, pup?"

Apollo meets the old alpha's gaze. "I'm Apollo Justice. I'm a defense attorney—and, now, a werewolf alpha."

"You're more than that, pup. Someone else's blood runs in your veins." Colyte fixes Juniper with his gaze. "What exactly have you crafted here, young alpha?"

"He's never claimed or known any other bloodlines." Juniper shrugs. "If he's something more, it's at the Lady's will."

"Hmm." Arthur returns to his beta's side, rubbing at his chin. His gaze moves from Lang to Apollo to Shae to the small collection of humans still standing on the hill. "You've played this very well, Juniper. If we kill you, then we look like barbarians and monsters to the Chief Prosecutor and to Lang Long-tooth. We possibly start a war, or wars, that we don't really want."

"If you try to kill her, you _will_ be monsters." Apollo's voice is steady and firm. "And yes, everyone will treat you as such."

Colyte doesn't acknowledge Apollo's interruption. "But if we let you go..."

"You lose nothing." Juniper's voice shakes, just slightly. "Apollo and Klavier have multiple options for their third. They're going to create a stable pack. You see how well-controlled they already are."

"But they _are_ creatures that shouldn't exist." Destin growls out the words. "What are we supposed to do if they bite more people? If _you_ bite more people?"

"If I may." Shae stands, her blue eyes meeting Destin's until he looks away. "I propose we use these people who have come to beg for leniency. Prosecutor Edgeworth."

All wolves are good at pitching their voices to carry. Shae is very good at making it seem effortless.

Edgeworth doesn't hesitate, approaching the gathering of alphas as though they were any other collection of people who would listen to his obvious logic. "May I be of assistance?"

"There's a human concept that I feel may be useful in this instance." Shae's hand moves in a sweeping half-circle, including Juniper, Klavier, and Apollo in the gesture. "Would you be willing to take responsibility for these three, in something akin to parole?"

"Done." Edgeworth doesn't hesitate. Doesn't ask what Shae means by parole. Doesn't shoot them a look. Doesn't wait for Lang to tell him whether this is a good idea or not.

Lang grins, and Juniper finds one of her hands rising to cover her heart, impressed with the human's faith and trust and compassion.

Arthur steeples his fingers in front of his face, looking from Edgeworth to Apollo, hunger clear in his eyes. "If they don't keep to the Laws, you'll be held responsible as well as them."

"Prosecutor Gavin is already my responsibility. Ms. Woods will soon be a judge, making her _almost_ my responsibility. And I consider Mr. Justice a personal friend." Edgeworth lifts his shoulders in the faintest shrug. "If all it will take to finish this matter is for me to give my word that I trust them and take responsibility for anything that happens, I find that a very small price to pay."

"Are you sure about this, Shae?" It's another female alpha who speaks—Callie, a woman that Juniper has had little interaction with in the past. "We could be setting ourselves up for a lot of trouble. I've seen these two on television before—if one of them makes a mistake... a _public_ mistake..."

Shae shrugs. "I would rather be damned for compassion than damned for cruelty."

Arthur gives a soft laugh. "Most of us would prefer not to be damned at all. But I suppose there's no help for it, at this point. Unless someone would like to protest allowing the Chief Prosecutor to take responsibility for the two new wolves and Juniper Law-lover..."

For a moment Juniper thinks that Destin will protect, and her heart seems to lodge in her throat, cutting off her ability to breathe. If this devolves into fighting—

But it doesn't. Destin glances around the pavilion, clearly cataloging everyone's status and opinion. Apparently not liking what he sees, he settles back down in his seat with a shrug. "As you like. May it be on all your heads if this goes poorly."

"If it goes poorly, believe me, I will be one of the first people on the streets with silver bullets." Edgeworth smiles, his eyes seeming to promise that it won't be Apollo or Klavier in his sights but rather Destin. "Does this mean you would like to meet the potential thirds for the new pack, then?"

Arthur lifts a hand. "Not quite yet. If you don't mind returning to your prior position, Chief Prosecutor, there's one other concern that we need to discuss with young Justice and his pack."

Inclining his head in graceful acquiescence, Edgeworth turns back to the humans on the hill, offering a reassuring smile to Juniper as he walks past.

Apollo frowns, though it's an uneasy rather than angry expression right now. "What else is there to discuss?"

"Yourself, of course." Arthur smiles. "You are something very special, pup. Something that hasn't existed in at least a century, probably significantly longer—there's a tendency to exaggerate people after they pass away, and one way that's frequently done is by giving them bloodlines that they likely didn't actually hold."

Juniper can hear Apollo sigh, though she suspects none of the other alphas can. "I don't know anything about any bloodline I might or might not have. I'm an orphan. No family records, nothing I can use to help you guys figure it out."

He is almost certainly related to Trucy, but given how new that revelation is and how little they know about the _how_ part of that relationship, Juniper doesn't blame Apollo for keeping the synopsis simple. It may even help them, later, if others don't know all of the information that they do. And none of what he's said is a lie, the truth of the statements easy to read from his scent and his bearing and the tones of the words.

Arthur and Apollo match gazes for a few seconds, neither alpha budging; then Arthur turns to Shae and Navon. "Navon? As our resident scholar on such matters, would you care to give your opinion?"

Navon reaches up to adjust his glasses again, glancing at Shae, unease obvious in his tense body posture and lowered head.

Shae considers for a moment before nodding. "Anything you think might be relevant, let them know."

Giving a brief nod, Navon walks out from behind their picnic table and approaches Apollo and Klavier. He keeps a polite distance away, his head down—not challenging, but close enough to get a good scent. After nearly a minute's contemplation, he shakes his head. "It's not a scent I recognize, though I do think there's one there, subtle and buried under the Moon and the Sun."

A murmur runs through the gathered alphas.

Shae arches one eyebrow. "No idea at all?"

Navon shrugs. "I don't suppose you know where the name Justice came from?"

All the alphas are likely able to hear Apollo's groan this time. " _I_ chose my last name. Because I was young and stupid."

A ghost of a smile touches Navon's lips. "I would hesitate to ever call a clear devotion to justice stupid. But it does make me wonder... Justice is one of the ten bloodlines I haven't been able to track down. The Justice branch isn't like the Tower or the Devil or the World, the bloodlines that tend only to appear during times of great trouble, but no one knows quite where they've all gone."

"I don't know." Apollo shrugs. "Believe me, I wish I knew more for my own sake, but I don't."

"Ah, well." Arthur gestures for Navon to head back to his seat, though Navon waits for Shae's gesture to actually move. "It does make it a more intriguing problem. And I can't help but wonder if there's some reason you were changed, bearer of an unknown bloodline. Does the Lady have something special planned for you? Do we need to be on the watch now for the Tower to appear, and all our careful plans to prove flawed from their inception?"

Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest. "All I'm planning on doing, sir, is defending the innocent in court, and helping make our justice system a little more just."

"It's all any of us plans on doing, _ja_?" Klavier toys once again with his hair. "Though I will be seeing that the guilty are punished, and you lot... well, I hear that an alpha's job is to care for their pack, and that sounds like a rather full-time commitment to justice."

Shae's mouth tilts up into a genuine smile. "Call the rest of the humans up here. I think it's time we began interviews and made sure everyone knows what they'll be getting into."

No one objects, and Juniper finds her pack shifted gently but firmly aside so that Klavier, Apollo, and their potential pack-mates are at the front of the alpha gathering.

That's it.

They've done it.

They've _made it_.

"We're going to be just fine!" Robin's hand grips Juniper's tightly, Robin's body pressing tight to Juniper's side.

"We're going to have a lot of fun with these guys and their pack." Hugh takes Juniper's other hand, his head coming to rest against hers.

"We're going to stay together, alive and whole." Juniper can't help but grin as it really sinks in that they've _survived_. "Everything else will follow from there."

XXX

They go back to Edgeworth's house for the rest of the day, to celebrate or to continue to work on their self control, depending on who you ask.

Well, all of the wolves go back. Edgeworth, Gumshoe, and Ema head in to work, and it's only Apollo's hand on Klavier's shoulder and Lang's soft request of _patience_ that keeps Klavier from trying to follow them. Athena volunteers to go in to the office, since she still has paperwork to finish from the trial yesterday, and though Phoenix volunteers to go with her, it's clear he wants to stay with Trucy.

It's also clear that Trucy wants to stay with the wolves, Trucy asking almost as many questions as Ema did. Though her father had managed to slightly dim her desire to become a werewolf with the knowledge that she and Apollo would almost certainly be unable to share a pack, she obviously finds the wolf magic absolutely fascinating and far too tempting.

Speaking of her father...

Apollo finally corners Phoenix in the library, after what feels like hours of surreptitiously chasing him through the house. Normally the ludicrous chase would have made Apollo furious, but between Clay's ghost laughing in his ear whenever he slips too close to the wolf and what he can smell of Phoenix's emotions, Apollo finds it hard to hang on to his anger.

His boss is _scared_. His boss is absolutely terrified of the conversation that is coming. Even if Apollo couldn't smell it, the fact that Phoenix is holding the book he is supposedly reading upside down while staring at Apollo with wide eyes would make it obvious.

A week ago it might not have mattered to Apollo. His need to _know_ , to have control, might have overwhelmed everything else. Now... the anger still simmers inside him, fueled by bitter frustration that Phoenix doesn't seem to trust Apollo. But Phoenix has been right by his side, the last two days, risking life and limb to help him, and that helps keep the fury in check. "Mr. Wright."

"I know. We need to talk." Phoenix sets the book down, not even bothering to dog-ear a page—probably because he looked down and realized how paper-thin his attempt at appearing busy had been.

"You know something." Apollo tries to breathe evenly, to keep the silver dancing in tiny sparks under his skin from flaring into something brighter. (Perhaps that is part of why it is hard to maintain his anger. The wolf does not understand what it means, Phoenix keeping information from them. The wolf just knows that Phoenix's hands have been gentle, that Phoenix has stood with them against their foes, that they desperately, deeply want to _trust_ Phoenix, and acts accordingly.) "Something about my heritage. About how Trucy and I are connected."

"I..." Phoenix raises a hand to cover his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose after a moment as he shakes his head. "I don't know anything about your bloodline. I swear that. The first time I heard about bloodlines was yesterday. I knew ghosts and spirit mediums were real, but werewolves and everything else... it's all new to me, too."

"Which doesn't actually answer my question." The fingers of Apollo's right hand dance across his bracelet. No lies, yet, and a bit of the tension drains from his shoulder. "You know something about how Trucy and I could have the same bloodline."

"Yes." The word is a whisper, and Phoenix's expression looks downright _haunted_ as he meets Apollo's eyes. "I promised someone I wouldn't tell you until they were ready for you to know. I don't know if they know more about the bloodlines or not."

"I don't _care_ about the bloodlines!" Apollo's vision takes on the dimmer hues of the wolf's eyes, and he can feel lightning lancing fire-hot through his joints. Apparently the anger isn't that well-controlled after all. "If you know something—if I might have _family—_ "

Phoenix's face twists, a wounded look that Apollo can't comprehend showing for a moment before being carefully buried beneath the calm, casual demeanor that he wore when on trial. "I'll contact the person as soon as I can. Though I think, if you don't mind my giving you a suggestion, that it might be wise to get your pack sorted out before we bring anyone else in who could spell trouble."

Speaking is hard. Speaking requires the use of human vocal cords, and though the full moon is over, though maintaining his human shape and emotions is supposed to be _easier_ than yesterday or the days before, the wolf is pulling hard at Apollo's self control.

"Apollo." An ice-cold hand brushes against his shoulder, and Apollo turns his head to see Clay, half-tangible, smiling as he pats Apollo's arm again. "You've _got_ family, Pollywog. These people who've accepted you being a werewolf without batting an eye and done everything they can to help you? _These_ are your family, more than some silly lost bloodline."

Lifting a hand to set atop Clay's, Apollo offers his friend a tiny smile before closing his eyes and drawing deep, slow breaths. When he opens his eyes, the wolf is once again a tingle under his skin instead of a raging electric light show.

Phoenix tilts his head to the side. "Is everything all right with Clay?"

"Yeah." Apollo's voice comes out husky, and he clears it carefully. "This... thing you know. Why'd you keep it secret?"

"Lots of reasons. Like I said, I promised someone I would, until they were ready. And..." Phoenix shrugs, looking away. "I'm selfish, sometimes. I like the way the Agency is right now. I like having you and Athena and Trucy and... I didn't want anything to change. But it can, in a heartbeat, whether I want it to or not. We all saw that last year."

Apollo has to close his eyes again, concentrate just on his breathing. He has good self control, Agent Lang says, and he's going to _prove_ it, to himself and everyone else.

"I'm sorry." Phoenix's hand brushes feather-light against Apollo's arm.

An act of trust, now, because Apollo can become a dangerous, _contagious_ monster at a moment's notice, and Apollo opens startled eyes to look at his boss.

"For what it's worth." Phoenix allows his arm to drop to his side, shrugging. "I'm sorry. I should have told you everything I knew sooner, promise or no promise. I'm... not very good at trusting people anymore, Apollo. At telling them the whole story. Even when they deserve it."

Apollo places a hand over where Phoenix's had been, inhales deeply, drawing the scent of Phoenix's distress and affection both down into his lungs. "You trust us when it's important. And... I want to be able to trust you. You think... it would be better to wait for answers until after the next full moon?"

"I think it would give you time to assimilate everything that's changed in the last two days before throwing a few more logs on the fire." A ghost of Phoenix's honest grin appears on his face. "Though who knows? Maybe it's better to face a bonfire than a bunch of small fires."

"I probably would take the bonfire over a bunch of tiny ones, but when they're _all_ bonfires..." Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest. "This person who swore you to secrecy... how long have they been keeping this secret?"

Phoenix's eyes become hooded again, wary as he crosses his own arms. "A little over a year."

Apollo tries not to do the math himself. Something Phoenix learned during the Misham case? Speculating on it won't help anything. "If it's kept for a year, another month won't hurt. Contact them. Tell them that I want to speak with them as soon as the next moon's done."

"All right." Phoenix gives a decisive nod.

Apollo runs his fingers around his still-quiescent bracelet one more time before forcing his shoulders to relax. That's done, then. He'll have his answers next month.

He'll have a _pack_ next month, a proper pack with whichever of their candidates want to join. Turning back to the library door, Apollo finds himself standing frozen, momentarily lost as to what he wants to do.

Phoenix's hand falls gently on his shoulder, this time, a soft, hesitant weight. "It's been a long few days."

"Yeah. And it'll be a long few weeks." Looking up at his boss, Apollo grins, Klavier's _lebensbejeweled_ or whatever it was rising up along with the wolf. "But that's all right, Mr. Wright. Because we're all going to be just fine."

XXX

Edgeworth spends most of the afternoon with Gumshoe, investigating a crime scene that may require teaming up with Interpol. The timing is almost ludicrously perfect, and if he didn't know Lang better he'd wonder if the man— _werewolf_ —arranged for this.

Gumshoe is quiet, his usual non-stop patter and chatter constrained to just a few wandering anecdotes each time they find something new. He stays alert, though, his hand moving toward his revolver every time there is an unexpected noise, and Edgeworth can't blame him for being jumpy and nervous.

Who wouldn't be, after finding out that the world is very different from what one thought it was?

Edgeworth considers simply allowing the detective the privacy of his thoughts and deliberations. Gumshoe has never been someone who revels in quiet contemplation, though, the detective usually far happier when he can talk with others to define a viewpoint. Once Edgeworth might still have kept his silence and his counsel; not now, though, not after years of fighting the Dark Age of the Law and then a solid year as Chief Prosecutor.

He waits until they're driving back to the precinct to catalogue their evidence—the first time he can be certain that they're alone, without prying ears to overhear what they shouldn't. "Was there anything you wanted to talk about, Detective?"

"About the case, sir?" Gumshoe perks up, turning his eyes away from the window. "I think we've done everything we can for the day."

"Not about the case. Though of course feel free to tell me anything you feel I should know about that." Edgeworth's fingers tighten around the steering wheel. "I meant about this morning."

"Oh." Gumshoe freezes for a second before lifting one hand to rub at a bandage on his right cheek. "I, uh... it's sure a lot to take in."

"It is." Edgeworth reminds himself to be patient.

"Did you..." Gumshoe glances at Edgeworth before turning his gaze forward. "When you first found out about it, did you think about being Changed?"

"No." Edgeworth's shoulders rise, a natural defensive posture that he forces to abate as soon as he notices it. "Agent Lang has offered, several times, but I find the idea... disquieting. It's not something I would be comfortable with, and thus it would be a bad idea."

"Yeah." A quick smile flies across Gumshoe's face. "I guess it's hard t' imagine you as a wolf, sir. Not t' say you _couldn't_ be, it'd just be... weird."

Because Gavin and Justice and Lang being werewolves isn't weird enough? Edgeworth's eyebrows creep up, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. If Gumshoe is accepting their new status quo so easily, far be it from Edgeworth to try to make him distressed about it.

"What..." Gumshoe frowns. "What would y' think about me bein' one of them, sir?"

Both Edgeworth's eyebrows arch up, though he manages to keep most of the surprise from his voice. "You're considering it, then? Remember that you don't have to. We've bought Gavin and Justice time to look for someone who really wants to be part of their pack. If you're hesitant about accepting the Change, then you shouldn't."

"Yeah, I got that when the others were talkin' about it for four hours." Gumshoe shakes his head, but there is still a smile touching his face. Well, at least someone enjoyed the alphas' posturing this morning. "And I'm tryin' not to just jump int' this. I'm tryin' t' make a smart decision."

"And that smart decision is you considering accepting the Change?"

Gumshoe's shoulders lift in a brief, sheepish shrug. "I've always liked dogs. Always been good with 'em. And there're things that go along with the whole werewolf thing... Prosecutor Gavin told me about what happened to his arm. And about how it healed."

"Ah." Edgeworth nods, a bit of understanding dawning. "They do have amazing recuperative powers."

"I'm not quite as young as I once was. And I know bein' a werewolf won't stop me from agin', but if it'll help make sure I can do my job, and help keep Prosecutor Gavin and Mr. Justice safe... I like Gavin, sir."

There's an apology in the words, one based in the long, bitter history that Phoenix and Klavier share. "I'm glad you do, Detective. He's a remarkable prosecutor, and Justice is a remarkable defense attorney. They're good men."

"They are. And if they'd really be willin'..." Gumshoe shrugs again, once more frowning down at his hands, turning them over and over. "I'm glad I know. I'm glad I'll be able t' help protect them, one way or another. But it's... it takes a lot of thinkin', you know? Decidin' what I'd be comfortable with and what I wouldn't. Decidin' what would be good and what wouldn't."

"It does." Edgeworth's assent is a quiet whisper.

"So..." Gumshoe shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "If I was, hypothetic'ly, t' become a werewolf..."

"I would give you the same leniency that I will be giving Prosecutor Gavin. And Ms. Skye, if she chooses to pursue the Change." Given how excited Ema was at the information she had managed to glean from the unprepared alphas, Edgeworth suspects that Gavin and Justice will have at least one more member volunteer for their pack before the week is out. Since both men are familiar with her and she works decently well with them, it's certainly not the worst match Edgeworth could think of. "I'll ensure that you aren't working or on call during the nights of the full moon. I'll try to be accommodating of needs during the weeks of the Change."

"You're a good man, Mr. Edgeworth." Gumshoe beams. "A real good man."

"I'm a reasonable man who wants to ensure his people stay functional." Edgeworth takes his right hand off the wheel, turning his palm up in a gesture of dismissal. "Besides, I would imagine that, were the condition known, being a creature of the Moon would count as a medical problem. It is illegal to discriminate in employment because of uncontrollable medical conditions."

Gumshoe begins laughing, a deep, rolling chuckle that fills the car with mirth. "Oh, man. Am I allowed to tell them that, Prosecutor Edgeworth? That bein' a werewolf is like... like bein' pregnant or havin' a broken arm?"

"If it pleases you to do so." Edgeworth doesn't see what, exactly, is so entertaining about the prospect, but the detective frequently finds joy in things he doesn't understand. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with regards to... all that business?"

"Not right now, sir." Shaking his head, Gumshoe settles back in his seat, looking more relaxed that Edgeworth thinks he's seen the man in days. "Thanks. For talkin' with me."

"Any time." Edgeworth turns onto the street where the precinct is situated. "Though for the moment, we should focus our energy on the more mundane tasks before us."

Gumshoe doesn't argue, and the two of them enter the precinct together, all talk of werewolves blessedly set aside for a few hours.

XXX

Athena returns to Edgeworth's house for dinner that night, finding that pretty much everyone who was there for the talk with the alphas has gathered again for a quiet, happy meal.

Including the person she most wants to talk to, and after allowing herself ten minutes or so to just float on the tinkling buzz of relief and happiness that lies beneath most people's words, she seeks out Juniper.

Juniper figures out quickly that Athena wants to talk, dismissing her two wolves and giving an apology to Apollo before gesturing for Athena to follow her. The two of them end up in one of the tiny spare bedrooms, and Juniper gestures for Athena to take the bed.

Athena does, though she immediately pats the space next to her, waiting for Juniper to settle down before she opens her mouth. "So. You've always been a werewolf."

"Yes." Juniper sighs, a dragging note of shame and weariness giving her words a minor-key sound that they don't normally have. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Sorry about—"

"No need!" Widget chirps out the words, the screen glowing a brilliant green until Athena hastily puts her hand over it.

"Ignore the robot. But not what the robot said." Offering her old friend a smile, Athena reaches out slowly, tentatively, to take Juniper's hand. "I'm not looking for you to apologize. I'm the last one to complain about people keeping secrets. I just... I want to hear from you what it's like. What you feel. Why you think it's a gift."

She has heard it, in Juniper's voice—the love that Juniper has for her wolf half, the joy she takes in running and playing. It burned against Athena's ears all last night and the night before every time the wolves sang, an ecstasy that seems almost too pure to be real.

"It is a gift, 'Thena." Juniper sits up straighter, her voice trembling, little glissando trills of emotion touching every vowel. "Our people say it's a gift from the Lady—from the moon goddess—but it doesn't matter if you believe that or not. The wolf... it's so _alive_. So focused and insistent in the moment, and when you bring in the pack..."

Athena's breath catches at the way Juniper says _pack_ , at the layering of emotions that somehow accompanies that one word. Hope and love and devotion and duty all laced together, a seductive package, and Athena has to swallow a few times before she can ask what she wants to. "Would you ever give it up? If you could stop being a werewolf, would you?"

"Never. Not for anything in the world." Juniper hesitates, a counter-melody of guilt flowing out with her breath in a sigh. "Well... for some things. To protect my pack. To undo harm that I've done..."

Releasing Juniper's hand, Athena instead puts an arm hesitantly around Juniper's shoulders, giving plenty of time for Juniper to pull away. "I'm... not sure it's all been harm. In a month or two, Apollo might not _want_ to undo it."

"Giving Apollo Stockholm's syndrome about being a werewolf doesn't make what I did better." Juniper smiles, though every word is weighted down with shame, dripping guilt that causes Widget to burn dark blue as Juniper's regret scrapes against the inside of Athena's ears.

"It's not that. I think..." Frowning, Athena speaks with careful deliberation, trying to pick each word so that her meaning comes through appropriately. "He was already getting better. Learning how to handle his grief. Learning how to reach out. But this whole wolf thing... it's given him Clay back, in a way. And it's made it impossible for him to feel isolated, not when everyone's rallying around trying to help him. It's been _rough_ , but it hasn't all been _bad_ , and... I think you should stop feeling sorry for yourself about what happened."

"I'm not..." Juniper stops, chewing on her lip for a moment. "I... kind of am, I suppose. Which I shouldn't be, not when everything's going to be all right."

"It's been a rough couple days." Rocking both of them back and forth, Athena smiles. "You're allowed a little moroseness. But I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't tell you when it was all right to let it go. Though I didn't really come here to talk about Apollo. Not unless you want to talk about when you're going to tell him—"

One of Juniper's hands snaps up to cover Athena's mouth. "We have very good ears, Athena. And no, I don't want to talk about it. Not until he's more ready, at least."

"Fr ngh." Athena's attempt at saying _fair enough_ is butchered by the hand over her mouth, but Juniper clearly gets the idea, relaxing and removing her makeshift gag. "What I wanted to talk about... was me."

Juniper blinks, her body starting to tense again. "Is something wrong?"

Shaking her head, Athena gives a rueful smile. "No. It's just... well, they need a third, and..."

Juniper's eyes go wide, and her laugh is full of crystalline surprise and joy. "You're thinking about it? Really? It would be _wonderful—_ oh, but..."

"Yeah..."

Widget's cheerful voice fills in what she doesn't want to say. "Would it be really dumb?"

"I, um... I wish I could tell you." Juniper's voice twists like her hands in her lap, a combination of excited arpeggios and nervous downward spirals. "Like Agent Lang said, mixing bloodlines is frowned upon. Technically made wolves are Moon and Sun, but that mixture tends to go well, so it's accepted. Whatever bloodline gives you your gift..."

"Do you think you could look into it for me?" Athena gives a hopeful smile. "It would be good to know, period, and if it's something that wouldn't go _badly_ with the wolf... I don't know."

"It... never hurts to keep your options open?" Juniper is practically vibrating with energy and exhilaration. Or perhaps that's just the moon calling, night falling far too quickly outside the house.

"It's always better to know than not know." That is something Athena firmly believes now, after all the mess in December.

Taking Juniper's hand in hers, she stands, drawing the other woman to her feet as well. "We should get back to your pack, though."

"We should. This won't be anything like a full-moon night, but it'll still be nice to be with them." Drawing her flower forward with her free hand, Juniper inhales deeply, her voice becoming more calm and contemplative as she does. "I'll see what information I can find for you. But in the meantime... listen to our voices. See what you hear, and how it feels against the rest of you. The wolves are very honest, usually. If it sounds and feels like something that resonates with you..."

"I'll listen." Athena smiles. She's fairly certain she couldn't _help_ but listen, not when she's in the same house with the eager wolves. Not when Klavier Gavin is one of the wolves, Gitarre liking nothing more than to sing into the night.

Together they head back out into the quietly cheerful atmosphere of the living room. Juniper's pack appears as though by magic, taking up flanking positions around the soon-to-be judge.

Trucy appears at Athena's side at the same moment, smiling up at Athena as she takes her hand. "The moon's going to be rising soon. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful night."

"Yes, it does." Squeezing Trucy's hand, smiling around the living room at Apollo and her boss and Klavier and his boss and the Interpol agent and the two detectives who may also become werewolves, Athena catches Widget starting to glow a brilliant green on her chest. "Yes it does."


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Fading Moon

**Author's Note:** This is the last chapter of this story! Many thanks to everyone who's read and especially those who have reviewed. I hope it's been a fun ride. I really like the world I created for this story, and I have a sequel story that's about 2/3rds done. If I manage to get it finished and people are interested, I'll post that one, as well. Hope you enjoy the ending!

 _Chapter Fourteen: Fading Moon_

Apollo stands on Klavier's back deck, looking out over an absolutely gorgeous vista of trees and too-expensive-to-pronounce shrubbery at the twinkling stars and the three-quarter moon that hangs above them.

It has been just over a week since the last full moon—since Apollo's first full moon as a werewolf.

"What're you looking at, wolverine?" Clay's ghost is a cold presence at Apollo's side, easily seen and heard now after a week's worth of determined practice.

"Nothing. And everything." Apollo shrugs. "Just... thinking."

"Well _that_ can be a dangerous past-time." Clay grins, though his eyes follow Apollo's, seeming to drink in the starlight like a drowning man gulps in air. "Come on, buddy. Try to look a little happier. Everything went well! You're a proper alpha werewolf now! You're back investigating cases!"

Not in court, not yet, and Apollo tries not to shift restlessly. He _knows_ how foolish it would be to push himself before he's ready, to risk doing _anything_ that could annoy the other alphas in the city.

He also feels more and more human—more and more like his old self—with every waning day of the moon, and he has never been very good at waiting.

"Something's bothering you, 'Pollo." An icy shoulder brushes against Apollo's, Clay attempting to shoulder-check him but not able to do much more than make the air around Apollo frigid.

"I'm... nervous." Apollo sighs, the word dragged from deep inside himself. "I still... I still feel like we don't have any right to ask this of anyone."

"You're not _forcing_ anyone. They decided that they _want_ to do this, because they've considered the options and they think it's something that'll be good for them."

"And for us." Grimacing, Apollo shakes his head. "It's at least partly to keep us safe, and partly because they're sick of Klavier and I..."

Apollo's not sure what words to use to describe what he and Klavier have been. Obsessed. Paranoid. It's gotten better, the further they've come from the full moon, but it's hard to be away from his pack-mate for too long—hard to keep his thoughts on other people or events if he doesn't know where Klavier is, doesn't know that Klavier is _safe_. Juniper says it's something that will get better, if there are more people in the pack. It's just part of the pack's instincts, part of the pack magic, too focused and intense because there aren't enough people to spread it between.

It's a part that's really hard to incorporate into his normal, every-day life. When they were all staying at Edgeworth's house, it hadn't been obvious; when Klavier moved back to his place, and Apollo was left alone in his small apartment...

Another brush of cold air against his shoulder, and Apollo smiles. He wasn't alone, not really. For all the disarray that this whole werewolf thing has caused in his life, it's also given him _this—_ given him back Clay, at least for a little while. "Are you going to be sticking around?"

"Who, me?" Clay points at himself, his eyes flicking first one way and then the other, as though Apollo could be talking to anyone else. "Why, am I finally starting to get annoying?"

"No, just—"

"Clearly I'm not trying hard enough, then. _Twinkle, twinkle, little star!_ " Clay breaks off with a laugh when Apollo swipes at him, dancing out of the way. His smile fades after a moment, though, his hands crossing in front of his chest as he studies Apollo. "Are you sure I'm not getting annoying? Because I can go haunt someone else for a bit, if you'd like. I just... you seemed to need me, and it's nice... to be able to talk to someone."

"God, Clay." Squeezing his eyes shut, Apollo pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't _want_ you to go, I just... I don't want you stuck here, because of me, if you need to be... somewhere else."

"If I need to be moving on, you mean?" Clay leans back against the deck railing, tilting his head so that his eyes gaze toward the stars. "I've seen other ghosts. Following our people around. Some are nasty pieces of work, but most... Metis is still here. I've seen her with Athena and with Simon. And your boss has a ghost following him—I think it's the woman from the picture in the office, the one who used to own the practice a decade ago."

The little hairs on the back of Apollo's neck attempt to stand on end. Apparently becoming a werewolf and having a ghost for a best friend doesn't make him immune to the creepy-crawly feeling that comes when considering that his office building is probably haunted. "Mia Fey. You've talked to her?"

"I had talked to her before I managed to have a conversation with you. She told me to take my time to mourn, and then let go." Clay closes his eyes, his shoulders tense despite his attempt at a relaxed position.

"If you're supposed to move on, Clay." Apollo has to stop, to force himself to draw a breath, to ignore the part of him that grows fur and fangs three days out of the month—the part that wants to grab Clay and say he never has to leave. "I don't want to keep you here."

"If I have to move on, if it's something I'll be compelled to do... I've met other ghosts, too. There's a man who follows Prosecutor Edgeworth sometimes... I think it's his dad. He told me not to break myself trying to help the living." Clay tilts his head down, opening his eyes and frowning at his hands. "That makes me think there's something I can do, right, even as a ghost? Something not related to this whole werewolf business."

"Clay—"

"So maybe if I can figure it out, if I can help other people the way I've helped you—"

" _Clay_."

"I can be like a ghost-superhero, I can—"

" _Clay!_ "

Clay shuts up, finally, his stream of words trickling to a halt as he lifts his eyes to meet Apollo's.

"You're dead, Clay. You're a _ghost_. What I'm seeing, what I'm talking to—it's _you_. Your soul, you... whatever you want to call it. And there is _nothing_ , no cause, no person, no possible change you could make to the world that would be worth the loss of _you_. Not forever." The thought of Clay being gone—of him not just being dead but being _gone_ , erased from the universe—is almost enough to shove Apollo into his wolf form, despite the distance from the full moon.

"I know, Apollo. And I appreciate that you feel that way, I just... I..." Clay pauses, blinking furiously... and then bursts into tears, raising his right hand to scrub frantically at his eyes. "I don't want to be _dead_ , I want to be _with you_ still, I want—"

Apollo is walking a dangerous line, teetering on the edge of his wolf form, but he doesn't care. Drawing the power up around himself, allowing the silver lightning to dance just beneath his skin, he reaches out and pulls Clay into a tight embrace.

The hug is cold, like pulling an iceberg against his chest. Clay's body feels just like it always did when he was alive, though—the same cadence to his sobs, the same squirming that seems to be as much to pull Apollo closer as it is to break Clay free of the embrace.

After a few seconds Clay's sobs stop, and he rests his head against Apollo's shoulder, breathing hard, though Apollo can feel no breath against his skin. "I'm sorry, 'Pollo. I didn't mean..."

"'s okay." Apollo releases Clay, his own voice gruff, from the wolf and his own pent-up emotions. "I wish things had worked out differently, too."

"But they didn't." Clay shrugs. "And... I mean, as much as Ms. Fey said I should move on, _she's_ still here after a decade. So I think I'm going to stick around. Especially since you are now The Great Werewolf Omen of Change, oh bearer of multiple bloodlines."

"I'm _still_ not entirely convinced they're right, no matter what Mr. Navon-I've-studied-all-the-bloodlines-like-a-crazy-person thinks. I'm just _me_." Apollo shrugs. "I'm just Apollo Justice."

Clay grins. "And you're _fine_."

"I'm Apollo Justice, and I'm _so_ fine!" Apollo returns Clay's grin as he shouts the words.

" _Ja_ , Justice, you are at that." Gavin would, of course, choose that moment to stroll out onto the deck, wearing nothing but his ridiculously tight black jeans. "Are you ready?"

There's a _little_ bit of a purpose to the rock-star-prosecutor's lack of clothing right now—in just a few minutes he and Apollo will be donning fur and ushering their new pack-members into the world of headaches and joint pain followed by bizarre instincts and an inability to do one's work properly.

Except that's not fair. Apollo steps forward, rubbing his chin against Klavier's shoulder. There is a certain wild thrill to being in wolf form that is like nothing else Apollo has ever known, and the ease of physicality that he feels with Klavier and the wolves from Juniper's pack... it's not something Apollo would ever have decided he wants, not on his own, but it's something he's really coming to enjoy.

"Talking with Clay again?" Klavier's question is quiet, non-judgmental, though there's a flicker of worry in his eyes.

Apollo rubs at the back of his neck. "Talking about what we're doing. About what _he's_ going to do. About where we want to go from here."

"Important topics." Klavier loops his thumbs into the top of his jeans, rising up a bit on the balls of his bare feet. "Come to any conclusions?"

Giving a small shrug, Apollo smiles at his friend and beta. (Also omega, currently, in their little pack of two, but Klavier is less happy about that title.) "The usual conclusions. We survive—or, well, we keep existing. We let others make the decisions that they think are right for their lives, as long as they're informed decisions. Clay stays until he's ready to go, which if precedent serves may be anywhere from a few months to a few decades."

 _Especially if things stay as exciting as they have been!_ Clay's voice is the faintest whisper in Apollo's ear, Apollo having pulled most of the wolf energy back into a tight little ball in his chest.

"Seems reasonable to me." Klavier's hand brushes against Apollo's shoulder, just a quick bit of physical contact to reassure them both. "The others are ready whenever we are."

Apollo nods. "I'm ready."

He strips out of his vest as he follows Klavier back into the house, from small laundry room to gym to dining room to cathedral-like music-and-living room. Most of the rest of the house speaks to affluence only vaguely, through knowledge of how much the furniture and the decorations and the equipment costs; the living room, though, contains a beautifully displayed hodge-podge of instruments, a sheer size, and an ear for acoustics that had Athena and Trucy entranced for a good five minutes.

Athena, Ema, and Gumshoe stand in the center of the living room. Gumshoe seems calm, unperturbed; Athena is nervous, fiddling with her earring and her ponytail in turn; and Ema is _excited_ , her scent lightning-sharp in Apollo's nose as he and Klavier enter the room.

Juniper stands with her pack against the southern wall; Lang is at the northern wall. Phoenix and Trucy are present—the only humans allowed, though Juniper had been uncertain about their getting to watch. Normally it's a wolf-only ceremony.

Since Apollo's pretty certain that Trucy's going to demand to be Changed as soon as it won't cause Phoenix to have a stroke and she's figured out who she wants in her pack, he figures it's best Trucy get to see things first-hand.

"So?" Ema takes a step forward. She's in shorts and a tank top—all of the would-be werewolves are wearing as little clothing as they're comfortable with, providing a maximum number of places for Apollo and crew to bite. Juniper had said that the ceremony's usually performed with everyone naked, but Apollo had pretty quickly vetoed that idea. "Is it time?"

Apollo turns to look at Juniper.

Juniper smiles at him, looking pleased and eager. "When the Alpha of the pack that will accept you says it's time, the ceremony will begin."

"Right." Huffing out a breath, Apollo faces the trio. "You guys are all really sure you want to do this?"

Ema makes a strangled sound of annoyance deep in her throat. "There is _so much_ that I can learn from this—so much that I can do! Plus it'll make it easier to keep the fop under control."

Klavier raises one eyebrow. "Your idea of helping me maintain discretion for the last week has been tossing things at me to see if I attempt to catch them with my mouth. Besides, I would not be so quick to assume you'll be more dominant than me."

Apollo glances at Juniper, having what's probably fifty-second thoughts about this whole endeavor.

Juniper raises her shoulders in a sort-of shrug. "You don't _have_ to accept anyone into your pack. It's your choice—well, your pack's choice."

"Ema will fit in just fine, Apollo." Klavier's voice is a soft rumble right by Apollo's ear, Klavier's body taut with eager energy as he studies their soon-to-be pack members.

Sighing, Apollo nods his head. Klavier trusts Ema, and Apollo really has no reason to doubt her—she's been a little overbearing, sometimes, with her desire for information, but when push comes to shove she's been there for them, every time. Whether it's driving them around while Apollo's a half-mad wolf, standing before the probing questions of two-dozen strange werewolves, or helping get Klavier somewhere with less stimulus when work threatens to be too much for him, Ema's helped them out.

Besides, if someone doesn't work out in _his_ pack, they can always try to join Juniper's pack. Apollo's pretty certain Ema won't care _whose_ pack she's in, provided she can learn all there is to know about the shadow (or Moon) dominated half of the world.

"Now, Ema." One of Gumshoe's hands falls on Ema's shoulder, drawing her back to stand at his side. "Pressuring them isn't going to get anything done faster. Sometimes you just have t' be patient."

From the way Ema sighs and crosses her arms, Apollo suspects this is a conversation the two detectives have had frequently in the past.

Gumshoe smiles at him, the tiny crow's feet around his eyes crinkling. Apollo thinks, from the experiences he's had with the man lately, that smiling is a very common expression for the detective. Though he probably _should_ be more worried about making Gumshoe into a werewolf—into a member of his _pack—_ Apollo finds that Gumshoe's the person he's _least_ worried about. Perhaps it's just the way Gumshoe has handled their wolf-selves, calm and assured; or the way Gumshoe shows such unquestioning loyalty to those who earn it, especially Prosecutor Edgeworth; or the fact that Gumshoe is most certainly _not_ dominant. Whatever it is that's telling him everything will be all right, Apollo finds that he trusts the instinct, and he returns Gumshoe's smile before turning to Athena.

He hadn't expected Athena to agree to become a werewolf. When Athena said that it would be a major change, one that she wasn't certain about, Apollo had assumed that meant she would be sane and say no. The idea had stung a bit, because there's a ridiculous part of him—a Moon-tied part of him—that desperately wants both Athena and Trucy in his pack (and Clay, but thinking about Clay and pack just makes the perpetual ache of grief in his chest spike). It's Athena's decision, though, and Apollo certainly wouldn't ever _force_ the Change on anyone, even _without_ the laws against it.

So he had been completely unprepared when Athena approached him yesterday and said that she would join the pack. _Ecstatic_ , and confused, and worried that somehow he's pressuring her into doing this for _him_ , and he's still not sure he has a right to do this to _anyone_ , let alone Athena.

(He has done enough to Athena already. It is so painfully _complicated_ , still, the relationship he has with her. She didn't trust him, didn't tell him about the Space Centre, but he didn't trust _her_ , and Phoenix didn't trust _either_ of them. She _forgave_ him, though, quickly and easily, and he _likes_ and _respects_ the young woman, both things he can say about very few people.)

"It's all right, Apollo." Athena offers him a bright grin. "I know what I'm doing—we all do."

"Are you sure?" Apollo regrets the question as soon as it's said, but he can't very well take it back.

Athena doesn't seem to take offense, likely hearing the fear and anxiety tangled up in the words. "I'm sure. Believe me, I've had lots of long talks about this over the last week." Athena's gaze shifts to Juniper, who squirms slightly and looks down at the ground. "If you found out Clay were a werewolf, and he loved it, and you could hear how much everyone who was a werewolf loved it in their voices on the full moon..."

Apollo opens his mouth to protest, considers the possibility, and instead nods slowly. "I... guess I can see your point."

"I want this. Not for you, but for me." Athena crosses her arms in front of her chest. "And I know what I'm getting into."

"We all do." Ema puts a hand to her forehead. "The alphas spent _four hours_ trying to convince us that we didn't _actually_ want to do this, remember."

Apollo does. He and Klavier had been forced to stand and listen, too, and Apollo is grateful that Lang and Juniper both protested any time someone decided to use scare-tactics. There is probably a fine line between informed consent of dangers and attempting to terrify people, but Destin and a few of the other alphas had catapulted over it, clearly attempting to prevent Apollo and Klavier from finding at third pack member. "Well, then... sounds like it would be silly to ask you guys again if you're sure you know what you're getting into."

Ema groans, earning a brief chuckle from Gumshoe.

"I guess, then..." Apollo turns to Juniper. "Shall we get this started?"

Juniper nods, moving away from the wall. Robin and Hugh follow a few steps behind, eager energy and excitement obvious in every step they take. "Do you remember the words?"

"Mostly." Apollo presses a finger to his forehead, hoping he's not going to completely botch the ceremony. Clearly it's not integral to ensuring a transformation, but it's important to Juniper, and he doesn't want to be insensitive. "Though... is it really necessary? I mean, clearly all we have to do is bite them..."

Juniper frowns at him, her disapproval clear. "We're not _beasts_ , Apollo. We want to do this _properly_ , right?"

Apollo sighs.

"It's a _celebration_ , Justice, as much as a ceremony." Hugh looks down on Apollo. "It's a pack bonding experience."

"Or a cult initiation, you choose." Apollo glares up at the taller man.

Averting his eyes, Hugh sighs. "You really are the _strangest_ alpha, you know that?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Lang has apparently decided that the wall he was leaning against will be just fine without his support, and he ambles over, all toothy smiles. "There are many, many stories about weird alphas out there."

"Which we can hear about later." Apollo breaks in hastily, giving his head a quick shake. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he calls the words he'll need up. "Right now... let's get the ceremony started."

Lang and Juniper both step back, forming the points of a triangle along with Apollo, the trio of humans in the center.

"Ema. Athena. Detective Gumshoe." Apollo pauses, wondering how long it will take for him to start calling Gumshoe by a more familiar name before shaking his head. He needs to stay focused right now. "The three of you have asked to be..." Oh, hell, he is going to sound so _ridiculous_ saying all of this. "To be granted the Lady's light and accepted into a pack—my pack, hopefully."

Ema grins. "Damn right."

Athena's smile is more gentle. "Yes."

"Yes, sir!" Gumshoe stands straight at attention, towering over Apollo.

Apollo nods in acknowledgment of their responses. "You've been informed of the risks."

That sobers everyone up immediately, and they nod.

"You've been informed of and agree to follow all the laws."

Murmurs of agreement come from everyone in the center of the triangle.

"Then stand and see the gift that you'll be accepting. Discard fear for wonder; discard solitude for solidarity. Accept the light of the Lady of the Moon, and all that comes with it." Apollo stumbles to a halt, his face burning with a combination of embarrassment and exhilaration as he prepares for the next part of the ceremony—the most important part.

It will be slightly different than most of the welcoming ceremonies. Normally it would be Apollo biting everyone, since he's the alpha of the pack that's looking to recruit new members. The little pesky clause about made-wolves not Changing new wolves has given most of them pause, though. As much as Apollo isn't going to allow prejudices to restrict his actions, he'd also really rather not be responsible for killing one of their friends or driving them insane.

So Juniper will be turning Athena and Gumshoe, though Sol whines unhappily with Apollo's mouth as Apollo draws up the power needed to transform. The further they are from the full moon, the harder it is and the more concentration it takes, but he's had enough practice now that the transformation takes only a minute or so.

A minute during which both he and Klavier are naked, having stripped out of the rest of their clothes as quickly as possible, but it could be worse.

Shaking his fur into place as soon as the change is done, Apollo strides forward, nose questing to pick out the scents of his new pack members. His mouth hangs open for a moment, the urge to grab Athena's wrist and gently, carefully pierce the skin almost too much to bear.

He promised, though, when he was in human form. She and Gumshoe are going to be Changed by Juniper.

Ema, though...

 _Gavin's done just fine, and he was changed by you._ Ema hadn't seemed concerned at all as she asked for Apollo to be the one to bite her. _It'll just be anecdotal evidence, the two of us being sane and sensible, but it'll be a base we can start working from to gather more data._

Excitement is the strongest emotion in her scent, a crackling, fizzing energy that makes Apollo's tail wag back and forth. Now that he has a proper nose he can smell other things, too—a hint of fear, sharp and cloying; some kind of tree-scented shampoo and soap; a gentler, calmer undercurrent to her scent that he realizes after a moment is _trust_.

She trusts him—trusts all of them, these people who have aligned themselves with Edgeworth the almost-alpha. She is so excited because she has faith that this will turn out well—that she will be able to make something good come of all this mess.

She will be _his_ , will be one of _his pack-mates_ , along with Athena sharp-ears and Gumshoe gentle-hands, and Apollo gives a little yowl of ecstasy as he circles her.

All he has to do is bite. All he has to do is choose a bit of exposed skin and sink his teeth in and she will belong to the pack.

An ankle? It would be easy to hide the scar, then, especially with the types of socks Ema likes to wear, but there isn't much fleshy padding over the little bones. It would be too easy to hurt her, even though that's the last thing he wants to do.

Her arm? She has some solid muscles in her upper arm. It would be simple enough to draw her down low enough for him to bite. Or her thigh. Her thigh is just about at eye-level anyway. If he just opens his mouth at the right angle—

"How about no." Ema reaches out to gently push his head away. Kneeling down, she presents her left shoulder. "Upper arm or actual shoulder, I don't care. It won't be too obvious, but I'll be able to show it if I ever need to without undue embarrassment. Sound good?"

Apollo whuffs out a breath, meeting Ema's eyes for a moment. Then he forces his head and neck to move in an imitation of a human nod. If that's what Ema wants, there's no reason for him to hesitate.

He makes the bite quick and deep, the taste of Ema's blood iron-sweet on his tongue. As soon as the punctures are bleeding, he begins licking them, trying to keep any blood from spilling out onto Ema's shirt or trickling down to the floor and mostly succeeding.

Juniper has already made both her bites—to Athena's right forearm and Gumshoe's left calf respectively. She steps back, though, allowing Klavier to tend to the wounds, Gitarre's blond form dashing back and forth between the two humans, his tail waving frantically.

"Oh wow." Ema swallows, her whole body shivering for a moment. "That was... huh. And that's it? Now we just wait for the full moon, and we'll be werewolves?"

"That's it." Juniper's voice is rough as she stretches into her human form.

The wounds on Ema's shoulder are already scabbing over, though Klavier comes up and begins cleaning them anyway when Apollo steps back.

It is easier sliding from wolf into human form, the waning moon seeming to drag him that way readily, and Apollo quickly slips his shirt and pants back on. Once he's done, he turns to watch Klavier. The blond wolf doesn't seem to want to stop running from person to person, pressing his nose against their healing wounds. "Klavier."

At the sound of his name the wolf spins around. His blue eyes stare up at Apollo, and then his left ear twitches back. Heaving a sigh that seems to shake his whole body, Klavier stretches his front legs out in front of him and slides into his human form with an easy grace that makes Apollo jealous.

"So." Athena stares down at the scabbed injury on her right wrist—a scab that is already taking on a crescent-moon appearance. "What do we do from here?"

"Right now?" Klavier somehow manages not to look the least bit embarrassed as he dresses. "I suggest we go partake of the food that's in the kitchen. I do not need all of it left in the house."

"Now we just wait." Apollo shrugs. "If it's anything like my transformation, the headaches will start when the moon starts waxing again, and on the next full moon... we'll have a bigger pack. Or packs."

Juniper nods. "My pack and Apollo's will both be here at the next full moon. We'll help you with the transition."

Trucy breaks away from her father, rushing into the center of the group. "It's going to be so cool! Daddy and I will be here too—we'll help with anything we can. I'm sure everything will go fine, though."

Athena runs a hand over the younger woman's hair. "I'm sure it will, too. We all know what we're getting into. I can't see any of us having a big problem with the change."

Lang laughs, a pleased, bright sound. "With a crew like yours, no, I don't see you having many problems with the Change. Though I _do_ think you're going to have a very interesting pack, Firebolt."

Apollo glares at the Interpol agent. "Say that again, and I'm going to call you every time we end up in trouble, because it'll be at least partly your fault."

"Maybe." Lang's smile only widens. "But with two unknown bloodlines in your pack—"

Athena shakes her head. "We're not _sure_ mine's a bloodline. It didn't come from my mother, at least."

"With at least one unknown bloodline, one odd power, and one ghost attached to your pack, how can you help but be interesting?" Lang's smile fades, his expression doing the strange shift it sometimes does from irreverent to deadly serious. "And with the sense of justice and righteousness that your pack has... I'm excited to see what your pack ends up doing, Apollo Justice. I think you might shake things up almost as much as I have, and that's quite the compliment."

"It's good to be interesting, Polly." Trucy pats him on the back. "It means that people are paying attention, and when people are paying attention, you can make a difference."

"I just want to do what's right." Apollo shrugs. "We all do. Now come on, everyone. Let's go have a little celebration, and then we can all get some sleep so we can go to work in the morning."

The group begins trekking toward the kitchen and the already-picked-over-once buffet spread out there. Apollo knows that the wolves, at least, will want to eat again after having transformed; everyone else will do what they wish.

This isn't where he expected his life to go. His best friend is dead. He's working for a man who doesn't ever seem to trust him with the whole story about what's going on. He's been cursed to become a werewolf on the nights of the full moon.

His best friend is a pretty cool ghost. He's working for his childhood hero, a man scarred by the fights he's had but who seems to genuinely care about both the system and those he works with. He's the newest werewolf alpha in town, ready and able to defend his pack but also allies and friends with both the youngest alpha in town and a pretty cool internationally famous werewolf.

He's Apollo Justice, and even if things aren't going exactly the way he'd planned, with his pack at his side, he's just fine.


End file.
